


Good Grief

by whittesmore



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Teen Wolf/The Avengers, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angry Stiles Stilinski, Angst, BAMF!Stiles, Emotional Hurt, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt!Stiles, Lots of Angst, Phil Coulson is alive, Physical hurt, Post Avengers, Post CA:TWS, Stiles Stilinski Has An Arc Reactor, Stony if you squint, Teen Wolf, Teen Wolf/The Avengers crossover, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony still has his arc reactor, depressed!Stiles, post im3, post mid 3b, pre age of ultron, smart!stiles, superhero!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2018-10-05 00:09:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10293011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittesmore/pseuds/whittesmore
Summary: "What's gonna be left of the world, if you're not in it?"-Following the aftermath of Eichen House, Stiles leaves Beacon Hills in attempts to stop anymore danger from entering the lives of the people he loves. Unfortunately, his hopes for a peaceful life off the grid are quickly erased when finds himself being tracked by the Avengers.*new chapter is up 06/29*





	1. chapter one.

**new york.**

_001_

**ONE MONTH AGO- EICHEN HOUSE**

Some part of him always knew that he was the cause of every problem the McCall Pack ran into.

And in his heart, Stiles knew it was mildly true, especially since he was the one who drug Scott out into the woods in their sophomore year.

That night in the woods set of a chain reaction with all the problems they've encountered, _all the deaths were because of him._

Waking up in the basement of Eichen House really opened his eyes to the danger that followed him. He had been strapped to one of the chairs, Oliver having secured him to it before the first time he woke up.

He could remember the way his heart skipped a beat when he saw Malia slumped in the chair next to him, the former werecoyote laying lifeless, a bloody hole in her head and brown eyes wide and empty.

She was _dead_ , because of him.

He remembered the fear that filled him when he heard Oliver's psychotic giggles fill the room, the insane, possessed teenager approaching him, the drill in his hands.

It was still dripping with blood- Malia's blood- as Oliver stood beside him, a huge, crazy grin stretching across his face. "Oh, we are going to have so much fun."

It really was a terrible combination. Oliver was already crazy, adding the Nogitsune to the equation just amplified his number on the insane o'meter.

Sometimes, when he's able to even get a wink of sleep at night, he remembers the feeling of the drill cutting into the side of his skull.

He had screamed until his lungs didn't allow him to scream anymore, but no one heard him. No one cared enough to listen.

No one heard anything as Void Oliver switched to tool after tool, treating Stiles as if he were the game of Operation.

It wasn't until he took the sharpened tool to Stiles' chest that he passed out, the seventeen year old giving into darkness as if it were an old friend.

By some kind of miracle, Stiles opened his eyes sometime in the night. He awoke with a gaping hole in his chest, and a smaller one in his head.

Oliver was lying dead next to him on the ground, a gun in his hand. Stiles could only guess what the teenager had done, and judging by the hole in his head, it couldn't have ended well.

Stiles' skin was a deathly pale and slick with sweat, dark bags circled his eyes, the boy looking deathly ill- and he was.

If the bloody hole in his chest were to give some truth, the boy was dying. There was no way he could go to a hospital, he'd rather die here than in the hands of Melissa. He wasn't about to leave her with that kind of pain.

His mind raced as he rolled to the side, desperately trying to yank his hands free from his bindings with the last of his strength.

With a war cry of absolute pain, Stiles yanked his hands up, the sound of tearing tape like an angel to his ears. His vision blurred as he pulled himself up, his hands searching for the blanket that he knew was on the couch.

He whimpered as he pressed it to his wound, helplessly trying to stop the bleeding on his chest as he searched for anything that could help him.

His tired eyes scanned the room, nothing in sight that would magically cure him of his injury- or at least, that was until he glanced up at the ceiling. A round puncture in the basement ceiling looked up into the outside world, the light shining in through the small hole reminding him of a certain tin-can superhero's glowing chest piece.

A glowing chest piece that could potentially save Stiles' life.

And at the moment, Stiles' knew exactly what he needed to do.

**PRESENT TIME - NEW YORK CITY**

New York was freaking freezing during the winter.

In Beacon Hills, you only need a good hoodie and a beanie to get through the cold months- but here? Here, you needed three jackets, two pairs of gloves, three layers of jeans, and five beanies just to be remotely warm.

Unfortunately, Stiles only had a long sleeved plaid shirt on, layered with his infamous red hoodie and the only thing keeping his head warm was a thin black beanie- so needless to say, he was freezing his ass off.

Luckily, the combined material of his shirt and his hoodie hid the glow of the arc reactor that was inserted in his chest.

He didn't attract any attention to himself, probably giving off the average teenager vibe to anyone who passed him.

His fingers twitched in his pocket, the feeling of electricity running through his veins completely evident as he tried not to twitch in discomfort.

The Nogitsune had done something to him that night, the night his chest was viciously torn open by a possessed mental patient. It wasn't just an act to make Stiles accept the Void spirit- the same spirit that, for all he knew, was still on the loose- into his mind, the trickster had done something else to him.

And he had a feeling that the reactor in his chest only accelerated the changes in his body.

The marks on his back were present once more, except this time, he wasn't given anything to keep the demons down. They appeared on their own, giving him even more reason to believe that it was because of his unwanted surgery.

Ms Morrel had explained that the markings were common on lightning strike victims- and something inserted electricity into him.

Any piece of metal was in danger by the uncovered hands of Stiles Stilinski, every piece sparking at the touch. Luckily, he managed to swipe a pair of gloves from a small gas station during his trek through New Mexico, which kept the electricity on his finger tips from escaping.

He couldn't control the electricity that seemed to be connected to him, which is more of a reason why he never returned home.

He wasn't even sure if anyone back home knew if he was alive.

So now, he was on the run from everything as well as nothing. That was how he ended up in New York.

He had hopes to leave his old life behind, one that he desperately tried to get rid of by not collecting anything from Eichen but his treasured hoodie.

Stiles didn't even attempt to get his pillow, a mistake that left him with many sleepless nights, but he knew that if he made any contact with his house or his bedroom, he'd only make things worse.

His trek across the country consisted of stolen bus tickets and hotwire cars, the teenager not taking any chances with hitchhiking.

By the time he reached New York, he was equipped with a black backpack that held a baseball bat, another set of clothes, and a pillow- all things he picked up on one of his many runs into a store (after hours of course).

He shivered, rubbing his gloved hand over his face as he walked through the chilled air. He took a quick glance to the side, spotting a suited male following closely behind.

Stiles wouldn't have paid him any attention if it wasn't for the fact that he had been trailing him since he passed Hard Rock Café, and that was twenty minutes ago.

He looked down at his chest, hoping that a muffled glow wouldn't be present- and it wasn't, so why was he being tailed?

Deciding to test if his suspicions were correct, Stiles turned a corner, only to come face to face with another suited man, except this one just gave him a dirty look and the middle finger. It was just another New Yorker.

He looked around, his eyes locking on a McDonald's, a metaphorical light bulb popping over his head as he came up with the bright idea to duck into the fast food restaurant.

And just as he suspected, the man followed him.

Stiles dug into his jean's pockets, searching for any money, and luckily he came up with two dollar bills. He was starving.

He couldn't really remember the last time he ate. Money was hard to come by when you didn't have a job. Fortunately, his road trip across the country had turned him into a master thief as well as pick-pocketer.

Walking up to the counter, Stiles set down the two dollars, hungrily ordering an Egg McMuffin, the smell of other people's order just about enough to make him drool.

He really was starving.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man in black standing off to the side by the entrance, his suspicions awfully correct as the male seemed to be watching his every move.

He looked back at the cashier, giving the woman a slight smile as she handed him the receipt. Slowly, but surely, he stalked over towards the pick up area, knowing that the man's eyes were following him.

So, he did the only reasonable thing; the minute his sandwich was handed to him, Stiles bolted.

The suited man followed after him, all while talking into his wrist watch. Stiles couldn't hear what was being sad, but he couldn't imagine it being anything good.

He sprinted down the street, doing his best to keep from running into unsuspecting people, though his only real goal was to keep his sandwich from getting caught in the cross fire.

In a matter of two minutes, one suited man went to three, then to five, leaving Stiles out numbered as he continued to run.

Now, he's never been known to have amazing stamina, but when you cross the country with nothing but your feet and a witty mind known for ideas, you kind of build up on your tolerance for pain.

Also, the metal in his chest might've helped a little bit.

Stiles skidded to a stop as three more people in black jumped out in front of him. He made a turn to back up, only to have his original followers block his path.

"Wow fellas, really know how to make a guy feel uncomfortable." He smarted off, bringing his hands up to his backpack straps.

"Keep your hands up!" One of them yelled, his own hands reaching to his waist, where a gun most likely was.

"Calm down, calm down. I'm just taking my backpack off. You'd want it right?" He asked simply, slowly pulling the strap off his left shoulder.

The man kept his eyes on him, though Stiles anticipated this, which is why he went on with his plan. In one swift movement, he yanked the zipper down the bag, sliding his breakfast sandwich in, and pulling his bat out.

The men closed in on him just as fast but Stiles was prepared. He dropped the bag, spinning in a circle as he swung the hat, smashing one in the head, which led to the injured dude to smash into another one of his buddies.

With a smirk of triumph, Stiles ducked under a thrown fist, this time smashing some guy in the knee- but the hits just kept on coming.

His instinct told him that these clowns were spies.

He ducked again as another spy attempted to pistol whip him, instead he ended up hit the gun from the spy's hand with his trusty bat. "Bitch." He snarled, knocking another blow onto his head, successfully knocking another agent out.

That was four, now for four more. He spun around on his heel, practically diving over an incoming spy. It felt like it was a movie, especially when he hooked the baseball bat under one of the spies chins, successfully yanking him onto the concrete and knocking him out cold.

That was five.

He felt pride build up in his chest as he realized his accomplishment, but as he got lost in his self pride, he was left vulnerable to the last three agents.

Stiles gasped when a gun smacked against his temple, though he kept his bat in his grip, returning the blow. Sadly, it didn't weaken his opponent as the spy smacked him once.

He yelped in pain as the gun came in contact with the soft spot that belonged to his still healing trepidation scar. His nostrils flared as he fell to the ground with a pounding head, his bat being ripped from his grip.

And for a second, Stiles seriously considered tearing off his gloves and frying these guys to a crisp.

Shaking the thought from his mind, he mustered up all his strength to not look weak as two of the still conscious agents lifted him up to a standing position, the third cuffing his hands behind his back.

He glared at the spy who stepped in front of him, a satisfied looking smirk on the older male's face as he lifted his watch to his mouth-

"Target has been apprehended."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author's notes:  
> this fic is purely fiction. i have no rights over marvel or teen wolf. this story takes place after The Avengers, All three Iron Man movies (except Tony still has his arc reactor), and the first two Captain America movies. It's before Age of Ultron, but i will be adding my own changed to that.


	2. chapter two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> every action's an act of creation.

**apprehended.**

_002_

Stiles was livid.

The _oh-so-kind_ spies had shoved him into the back of a spiffy lookin' black van, and unfortunately, they hooked his handcuffs to the bars his arms were meant to rest on. That didn't stop him from wearing a shitty smirk as the five unconscious agents were put in the van vertical from his view.

The glorious site, however, was quickly disclosed from his eyes as the black doors were swiftly shut, and the agent who handcuffed him in the first place, slid onto the seat in front of him.

Stiles raised an eyebrow, not giving any signs of being uncomfortable with the predicament he was currently in.

"Pretty chilly out, isn't it?" The Agent-or spy- it had to be one of the two- queried.

"Eh," Stiles shrugged, "You really work up a sweat when you're kicking ass."

The male looked unimpressed, leaning back against the metal wall as he crossed his arms, "Alright, I'll cut to the chase, kid. I'm Agent Coulson-"

"Called it." Stiles cut him off.

Coulson gave him a dirty look, "You, Mieczysław Stilinski, are a major person of interest." The agent butchered his first name so terribly that Stiles physically cringed.

"Yeah, and your research seems aye-one." He spat out sarcastically. "Word of advice, when learning something new, make sure you can actually pronounce the words correctly." He felt pride at the distaste in Coulson's face.

"Look, Mieczys-"

"It's Stiles." He said forcefully, incredibly annoyed at the sound of his real name.

"Look Stiles," He sounded equally annoyed, though Stiles didn't care. "You're gonna have a rough interrogation, aren't you?" Agent Coulson has his own smirk set on his face, though it didn't rival Stiles' one bit.

"You're mistaking me for you." He bit back. "Though, now that I think about it, any talk with me is a gift from Heaven."

"You've got quite a mouth on you, don't ya? You'll get along great with some of my buddies, your personalities are exact replicas." Coulson gave the teenager an irritated look, beginning to get annoyed with his never ending snark.

"What can I say? It's all in the charm." Stiles leaned back as if he was completely comfortable with the situation- which he wasn't, but he wasn't going to let Agent Coulson know that.

Besides, he wasn't even sure if any of this was _completely real_.

**S.H.I.E.L.D HEADQUARTERS- OUTSKIRTS OF NEW YORK**

Truthfully, when Agent Phil Coulson was briefed on a potential terrorist from a small town called Beacon Hills, he fully expected a middle aged man with a poorly trimmed goatee and a grudge against life.

But instead, he was met with a teenager with a snarky attitude and eyes that looked much older than his actual age.

His surprise didn't come when he was met with the boy himself, instead it came with the mission brief by Nick Fury.

And, of course, with a mission briefing, came a mission debriefing- which Phil was currently sat at a large conference table for.

Once they arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters, Coulson and a handful of other agents dragged the kid to an interrogation room, which doubled as a cell.

Stilinski didn't even put up a fight, and that's what bugged him. He didn't look remotely nervous, which only led Phil to believe that there had to be something up his sleeve.

At least now they had him locked up, and hopefully whatever plans he had been making were shut down when he was shoved into the small room.

Phil's fingers brushed across the manila folder, which was filled to the brim with every piece of information they could find on one Mieczysław - or, as he was _so_ nicely told, Stiles- Stilinski.

And unfortunately, it was a lot.

Way too much for a teenager.

There were multiple copies of the seventeen year old's file spread neatly throughout the table, one in each particular spot that now occupied an Avenger.

The full team had arrived after being summoned by Director Fury, and it was incredibly obvious that they were all curious as to why they were called in over a teenager.

Doctor Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, and Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes sat to the right of him while Captain Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and Thor Odinson sat to his left. ( _Any other time, Phil would've been completely baffled by how close he was to the Captain America_ )

Agent Natasha Romanoff and Agent Clint Barton were seated on the opposite end of the table while Coulson sat at the head of it- well, he was sharing the head of the table with Director Fury.

It was only a matter of seconds before the dark skinned male joined the team inside of the conference, arriving with his ever-brooding glory as he took his rightful seat.

"Gentlemen, Natasha," He nodded at the whole group, "We have some important business to attend to, and I'd appreciate if the comments were kept at a minimum." Everyone knew that this was directed to Tony Stark. "Let's begin."

The monitor behind Phil flickered on, a picture of teenager with a fluffy up-do and whiskey eyes appeared. He looked innocent enough in the photo, but after the encounter Coulson had with him, it was entirely deceiving.

Underneath the photo spelled out his full name, one that Phil was oh-so-rudely commented on about- **MIECZYSŁAW CZEZCHALIM STILINSKI.**

It really was a mouthful, and Phil could hardly see why any parent would give a child that name.

Coulson could've laughed at the looks on everyone's face- well, everyone except Natasha, who seemed to show no emotion at the image of the seventeen year.

"This is Miezcy-"

"Miecyzsław." Natasha corrected before he could butcher the name.

"Stilinski, though he has claimed to go by Stiles. Which in retrospect, is a lot easier to say." He nodded in a gratitude. "He's seventeen years old, and was born on an Army base in Krákow, Poland to Noah Stilinski and Claudia Grzeskiewicz. Noah served until he became Lieutenant General, where he later retired and moved his family from the base in Poland to Beacon Hills, California when his son was three."

It routine to go over the aspects of their suspect's life, knowing that anyone in that room could catch a pattern or a clue that could possibly lead them to something they didn't realize.

"Noah worked as a Deputy at the Sheriff's department for six years before he was elected Sheriff, and unfortunately, his first case went unsolved." A photo of a young girl was up on the screen, as well as the crime scene of a car accident.

"How does his first case pertain to the kid?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

"I agree with Stark," Thor affirmed. "I fail to see how such a puny adolescent has attracted the attention S.H.I.E.L.D."

"We're getting to that." Phil replied. "Anyways, the problems with Stilinski didn't begin until the second term of his sophomore year- though he did acquire minor offenses as he grew up."

That's when everyone began to flip through the file, and Phil enjoyed how most of the team seem surprised at the apparent past-time of the teenager.

"Wow." Came a muffled mumble.

"Indeed." Coulson agreed, "It began with him, as well as another teen, finding Laura Hale's body." A photo of Scott McCall and Mieczysław Stilinski flickered onto the screen. He gave it a second before he continued, "Then after a period of time, Stilinski, as well as four other students, were trapped in Beacon Hills High School with a presumed serial killer."

Even though he's heard all this before, it still appalled Phil how much trouble this kid was involved in.

"After another extended period of time, Stilinski went missing during the winter formal. He was also connected to the attempted murder of a young girl who he was claimed to have gone to the dance with."

A photo of a young girl, who went by Lydia Martin, shown on the monitor. It was the junior year yearbook photo, one that they came across quite easily.

"He later returned, showing up at the crime scene that held the murders of Peter Hale and Kate Argent. It was later found that a molotov cocktail was used to set Peter Hale on fire, Stilinski's prints were found on pieces of the broken glass."

Another image flashed over the screen, this time showing the battered lot that belonged to the Hale House. It was taken after the bodies were called in.

"And, only two days later, Stilinski discovered that Lydia Martin went missing from the bathroom in Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, only for the girl to show up again two days later- again Stilinski is the one who found her."

"It was barely a week later before Stilinski was found in the Sheriff's station where Isaac Lahey went missing from custody- the cell was broken."

As Coulson explained each predicament the teenager got himself in to, images of each crime scene was shown on the screen.

"Stilinski was found in the mechanics' garage where Jerry Michaels was found murdered- he was crushed by a car lift that held Stilinski's Jeep."

"And no one seemed to think that maybe the killer was the kid himself?" Barton spoke up, looking incredibly surprised by the information he was being told.

"Trust me, there's more." He sighed, looking to Director Fury, his boss nodding for him to go on. "About a week later, Stilinski was found at a club called 'The Jungle' where many people were found paralyzed from unknown causes."

"This kid has a bigger file than Stark." Steve commented.

"That's what you think." Tony mumbled though everyone heard it.

"A restraining order was committed against Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall after they were convicted for a prank gone wrong- they kidnapped Jackson Whittemore, and kept him locked in a van in the middle of the woo-"

"Hold on, I'm a little curious about something," Natasha finally spoke. "A lot of things Mieczysław was involved in, Scott McCall was included as well, so why are we not investigating him?"

"Because Scott McCall didn't blow up the Sheriff's station." Fury cut in, his low voice given the statement more bass.

The room was silent, so Phil took that as a cue to continue, "Later on, Stilinski was credited with helping his father solve the case of the local murders surrounding the area, which were caused by Matt Daehler. The said teenager kept the Sheriff, his son, and Scott McCall hostage in the Sheriff's station, as well as Melissa McCall. Matt Daehler was later found in a pond, where he supposedly drowned."

"If they were in the Sheriff's station, how did a teenager manage to keep them hostage?" Sam questioned.

"Occupants other than the hostages were found brutally murdered," Coulson explained roughly. Even if he didn't know these people, he still felt a pang of something for the lives lost.

"It was only ten days later when Stilinski went missing after a lacrosse game. In the police report, it says that the lights went out over the whole field, and while Whittemore was supposedly found dead on the field, Stilinski vanished into thin air. It's unknown what exactly happen to him, but the Sheriff reported that Stilinski returned home bruised and beaten."

He figured there was more to the story, but it was never recorded in any of the files. The interrogation with the kid would hopefully get them the answers they need.

"Then, there was somewhat of a quiet period of time, only for Stilinski's troubles to start up again at the beginning of his junior year. He was involved in several incidents that can't be directly connected back to him." A photo of a classroom flickered up, the huge windows shattered, black feathers stuff to several shards of broken glass as well as several blood stains.

"Woah, what the hell happened there?" Rhodes queried, speaking for everyone who looked surprised by the incident.

"Several students, as well as the teacher, reported that crazed birds flew through the windows." It was insane, especially now that he was the one saying it.

"The night after, Stilinski and McCall attended a birthday party, where Stilinski was the last person to see Heather LaRose before she went missing, and was later found dead."

"Seriously, no one suspected that the kid might've killed her?" Tony exclaimed. "This is ridiculous, the clues are all there."

"I agree with friend Stark, once more." Thor bellowed.

"I'm afraid that that's not even the worst of it," Coulson sighed. "Stilinski also found several of the other bodies, though it was recorded that he wasn't the killer, though we believe that the evidence was not sufficient enough to honor that statement."

"Now, this is where things get a little more interesting. Stilinski was apart of the high school's cross country team, where they took a trip about halfway across the state for a meet. Their stay at the Glen Capri Motel is what first sparked our interest in the teenager. An explosion was heard and seen by a few students who were apart of the team as well, and Stilinski was told to have been apart of it. Luckily, no one was injured but that was when S.H.I.E.L.D began to keep a closer eye on him."

"Again, Stilinski was found at many crime scenes, as well as finding dead bodies." The gruesome photos were shown one after the other. "But soon, the Sheriff went missing the same time as Martin was found almost murdered, once again, in a school classroom. The culprit was never caught, but Stilinski was at the scene as well."

"An FBI Agent, Rafael McCall arrived on scene at the Memorial Hospital, where he found it trashed with only Stilinski inside, sitting in one of the chairs. The only explanation he provided was that he had been stuck in the elevators while the commotion was going on- though, after thorough research, that was proven to be untrue. Chris Argent and Melissa McCall were found to be missing in the days passing.'

"This is a little bit...disturbing." Banner chimed, his dark eyes scanning over the page in the file before looking up at the screen at the torn apart hospital.

"Stilinski, Lahey, and Argent were found in the middle of the woods, along with the missing parents. There was never any report as to what happened as none of them decided to speak up about it. Which is wh-"

"Which is why the interrogations are going to very important and highly classified. Not a word of what the kid says will be shared with anyone who is not in this room." Fury said roughly, giving the whole team a pointed look.

"Now, onto why the Sheriff's first case was mentioned- Raf McCall was in Beacon Hills to try and impeach the Sheriff out of his job due to his insufficient way of not closing cases." Coulson explained, "After a thorough investigation, the Sheriff concluded that the only body not found in the car crash that killed three of the four members of the Tate family was their oldest daughter, Malia Tate."

"Despite the investigation not officially being reopened, the Sheriff found that the car crash might've been a murder instead of an accident. Later that day, Stilinski and McCall were found in a coyote den where they came across some of Malia Tate's belongings."

As he went on explaining how Stilinski supposedly solved his father's case, he made a point of glancing to each team members face- while each of them has made a comment once or twice, they all seemed quite intrigued by the teenager and his case.

Coulson knew that when he got to the next part in the file, their interest would only grow.

"On Halloween Night, the police found McCall, Stilinski, Martin, and Kira Yukimura in a power plant where Yukimura was supposedly kidnapped by William Barrow, who was found dead by electrocution at the scene."

"Two weeks later, Stilinski went missing from his bedroom, only for Raf to locate him in the same coyote den they claimed to have found Malia alive in. He was only missing for two hours, though he was rushed to the hospital in fear of getting hypothermia from the weather."

"The cause of his disappearance was sleep-walking, and the only reason they knew he was gone was due to the call he made to McCall in the middle of the night. After looking through different files on the Sheriff's Department hard drives, we were able to access the call."

When he had listened to the call himself, he felt a pang of sympathy for the fear that he could hear in the boy's voice, though it was later gone when he was informed on what Stilinski did only three days after.

" _Hey man, what's up? Stiles?_ " Scott McCall's voice was heard smoothly through the speakers connected to the TV.

" _Scott_ ," There was a slight shudder in his voice.

" _I'm here. What's up? Are you okay?_ "

" _Scott, I don't...I don't know where I am_." His voice was now borderline hysterical. " _I don't know how I got here, I think I was sleepwalking._ "

" _Okay, um, can you see anything?_ " McCall asked. " _Just tell me what you see._ "

" _Uh, it's dark_." Stilinski heaved. " _It's hard to see. I think there's something wrong w-_ "

A low buzzing sound indicated that the call was dropped. It was a couple minutes later when the calls began again.

" _Stiles_?"

" _Scott, I don't think I can get out of here. I can't move._ "

" _Where are you?_ "

" _I don't know. I-I don't know._ " His voice cracked. " _It's too dark. I can't see much and there's something wrong with my leg. It's stuck on something. And I...I think it's bleeding_."

" _How bad?_ " When he didn't get an answer, Scott continued. " _Stiles, how bad is it? Stiles?_ " Again, there was no answer. " _Can you hear me?_ "

A choking sound could be heard before he finally spoke up, " _Ugh, there's some kind of smell down here. Something smells terrible. It's brutal._ " He hiccuped. " _My eyes are watering._ "

" _Okay, listen. I'm calling your da-_ "

" _No, no, no, no, no._ " This time, his voice really was hysterical. Coulson could've sworn he saw Tony flinch at the sound.

" _But your dad-_ "

" _Don't. Just please don't call him. Promise you won't_!" Stilinski breaths were beginning to pick up. " _Come find me. You can do it. He doesn't need to know. Scott, you can find me_."

" _I don't know if I can do this_." There was  
no way of missing the crack in Scott's voice.

Stiles sniffled, " _Oh, I gotta call you back_." He sounded frantic this time, as of something was terribly wrong. " _I have to turn the phone off_."

" _What, no! Hey, wait, St_ -"

" _I'm gonna call you back_."

Scott was quick to protest, " _Hold on, Stiles wait! Hold on, man_ -"

The call was dropped once more, though this time, there was more time in between calls.

" _Hey, Stiles_!" Scott answered the phone quickly.

" _Did you call him? Did you call my dad_?"

" _No, just Isaac_ -"

"Idiot." He could hear someone from the table say quietly.

" _We're coming to find you, can you figure out where you are_?" He questioned. " _Try to find something and tell us where to look_."

" _Uh, it's a basement. I-I think I'm in some kind of basement_."

" _In a house_?"

 _"No, it looks bigger_." He denied. " _Like industrial. I think there's a furnace. But it's cold, it's freezing down here_." He paused as if something happened. When he spoke again, his tone was more hushed, " _I gotta...I gotta turn the phone off. It's going to die_."

" _Wait, wait, wait! What else is there? What do you see_?"

" _The phone's dying_." His voice became even quieter. " _I gotta go_."

" _Wait Stiles...why are you whispering_?"

" _Be-Because I think...I think someone's down here with me_."

That was the end of the phone calls, though the last line was completely freaky. Though it was concluded that he was just dreaming, it was terrifying to hear such a thing.

"Wow, that was...unnerving." The Captain stated. "And you're saying that he was alone when he was found?"

"Completely," Coulson affirmed. "Now, it doesn't end there, unfortunately, because Stilinski vanished from the CT scan where he was tested positive for frontotemporal dementia-"

"Wait, so you're telling me that we have someone with a mental disease locked in an interrogation room?" Banner questioned warily.

"No, I'm not. Sheriff Stilinski found the scans to have been copies of his wife's. Somehow, his son must've hacked the systems because only seconds after the picture was shown, the power went out and he was gone."

"On the roof, they found a wire that was cut through, though when it began sparking, it fell off the roof and into the puddle of water on the ground that was created by the rain. It killed several people, as well as hospitalizing even more."

Finally, Coulson was beginning to get to the end of the debriefing, "He was missing for three days before he turned up in the basement of the high school, where Ethan and Aiden Lupin found a map of the cross country trail and a box of tools."

"Robert Finstock was later shot in the stomach with an arrow when the teenagers went to investigate. It didn't end there though, because only minutes after, they discovered bomb blueprints and another box of materials in the back of Stilinski's Jeep, leading the police to a supposed bomb wrapped in a gift box in a school bus."

"Luckily, Deputy Jordan Parrish was on the scene to try and defuse the bomb, but the only thing that was found was the Sheriff's name plate. The real bomb, however, was located in the station. When it went off, it killed more than half the occupants. It was only three more days later when he was put into a mental institution called Eichen House."

Phil took a deep breath, ready to conclude the terribly long speech, "Stilinski was only there a day before they found him missing, once again, though this time, it apparently proved to be fatal. After a long search, they found Malia Tate and Oliver Johnson dead in the basement of the facility, though it was concluded that Johnson was to blame for the deaths. Tate died of an apparent surgery to her dead, which is said to have been done by Johnson, before he took his own life. Stilinski's blood was found on majority of the tools, though his body wasn't found with the other two, instead, it was found in a parking lot. A large gash on his stomach the only tell of what he was put through in the basement."

Phil sat back down, the monitor behind him clicking off, "That concludes our debriefing of Stilinski. We have him in custody now, interrogations will be given soon, though Bruce?" The doctor looked at him curiously, "I'd suggest you sitting out on this one, he's very angering."

Banner nodded, not planning on arguing if the chance of hulking out was there.

"I still don't know why we're not looking into his friends as well," Barton spoke up for both him and Natasha.

"McCall, as well as the others, attempted to stop whatever Stilinski was planning. They've proven to be part of the good guys." Coulson explained, waiting for the next question or statement.

"He seems to have skipped quite a lot of school," Rogers spoke up, scanning Stiles' school forms. "That's no way to get a good education."

"Actually," Bruce replied, "He seems to be pretty bright."

"Pretty bright?" Stark countered. "This kid has a five-point-O grade point average. Bright doesn't seem to even begin what this is, and that's coming from me." Tony's eyes went to the medical form that was next to the school one, mentally noting that Stiles was diagnosed with ADHD and a panic disorder.

"How did you guys even find this kid?" Clint questioned.

"Several of our agents were trailing him in NYC, though I wasn't aware that Stilinski noticed. It wasn't until he left McDonald's that things got a bit...physical."

"And by physical, you mean what?" Rhodes queried.

"He took out five of my agents with a baseball bat before we finally got ahold of him."

At that, everyone seemed surprised, and Coulson understood why- Stiles Stilinski seemed to be all skin and bone.

-

Okay, this was all completely and totally real.

Stiles was very aware of that, even if it took counting his fingers MANY times, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

He kind of wished he was, because now he was locked in a small room that only held a table, and two chairs- which were all bolted to the ground.

He was bored out of his mind, which was terrible because he hasn't had Aderall for an extended period of time, so he was full of energy from his ADHD.

Life was just throwing a lot of problems at him lately.

He sat up straighter when the door to the room unlocked, and pushed open. You can imagine his disappointed when two agents were revealed.

It was clear that they didn't come to bring him out of his prison, especially since they handcuffed his left hand to the hook that was connected to the table.

"Thanks for the hospitality, fellas." He said sarcastically, giving them a salute with his free hand.

Of course, they ignored them, exiting the room just as quickly as they came, though, they weren't his last visitor.

As soon as the door shut, it opened right back up, a man walking in who could only be identified as Hawkeye. He gave Stiles a look as he crossed around the table, taking his own seat at the end.

"What? No good morning?" Stiles grinned, "Come on, show some emotion. I mean, I'd say it, but let's be real here, I'm not the one who was taken against my will."

"You incapacitated five agents with a baseball bat." He deadpanned.

"They shouldn't have tried to get in my way." He shrugged, thinking of the Egg McMuffin he never got to eat.

"Tell me, why exactly did you start running from them, if you're so sure they had no reason to follow you." Hawkeyes raised his eyebrows.

Stiles' lips twitched into a smirk as he clenched his gloved fists, "Tell me, why exactly were eight grown men following a minor in the middle of New York?"

He watched in satisfaction as Hawkeye's nostrils flared with annoyance, "Listen Stilinski-"

"Please, it's Stiles. Stilinski is my father." He tapped his fingers on the top of the metal table, though instead of clear thuds, he only for muffled taps.

"I'm aware." He stated. "But the nickname sounds so ridiculous, I've decided not to use."

"You're bashing me on my name? Buddy, are we forgetting your name is _Clint_?" Okay, so maybe that was a little rude, but he started it.

Clint narrowed his eyes at the seventeen year old in front of him, "How do you know that?"

Stiles took a second to decide if he wanted to reveal his secret, but he decided that his hacking skills weren't the worst things he's able to do. "S.H.I.E.L.D isn't that hard to hack, especially from a library desktop."

"I got interested in the whole 'S.H.I.E.L.D' thing after the Manhattan thing, and when I could dig deeper, I did." He shrugged, as if it was a good enough explanation.

Hawkeye practically glared at him, "Listen kid, however much you know about the Avengers of S.H.I.E.L.D-"

"Don't forget Stark Industries, I hacked that too in the Apple Store." Stiles added cheekily.

"Whatever you know about any of those things, it's not gonna help you here. Now, why don't you give us the answers we want, and we'll be done here?" He seethed, his annoyance by the kid filled to brim. Clint was starting to see why Coulson suggested that Bruce not talk to him.

"Start asking questions, and maybe I'll answer." Stiles said smugly.

"Why'd you send a bomb to your father's station?" He asked, figuring that if he brought up family, it'd might get some kind of reaction.

"Nope, don't remember ever doing that." Actually, he did, but that wasn't him in the right mind. That was the Nogitsune, not mine.

"Don't play dumb, we know that the blueprints for the bomb was found in the back of your car." Hawkeye said stiffly.

"That doesn't exactly connect me to what happened, especially considering that people know how to plant evidence." He fired back, "I know the inner workings of law enforcement, planting evidence to give someone else the blame isn't uncommon."

"That's funny, considering that your prints were found on a lot of the so-called 'planted evidence'. You killed a lot of people."

Stiles dropped the snarky facade, instead his eyes turning stone cold. That was too far. Even if Clint didn't know what had actually happened, it still struck a nerve.

On the other side of the table, Clint was mentally smirking in satisfaction at the look on the teenager's face. Maybe now he'd get some real answers.

"I didn't kill anyone." Stiles voice was sharp and angry.

"Give it up." Barton sneered back. "You killed those people, and we wanna know why."

"Oh, because you're someone to talk? You act like the Avengers are here to help, but do you know how many people were killed in New York? What about D.C?" Stiles glared. "And it wasn't just those aliens, buildings that the Hulk ran through or that Iron Man directed the giant alien through? Or the helicarries? Yeah, those went down, and people died."

That seemed to be the final straw of Hawkeye, because the agent leapt forward, gathering Stiles' hoodie and shirt collar on his hands as he was face to face with him.

"Barton! Stand down!" A voice, that Stiles recognized as Captain America, was muffled, coming from the com link in Clint's ear. "Stand down!"

Only, it was too late, because instead of letting go of Stiles, his eyes were lead to the dim glow of the arc reactor in the teen's chest.

And he only let go when he realized what it was.

"Guys," He spoke into the com, "I think we have another problem."


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dying is easy, living is harder.

**react.**

_003_

**INTERROGATION** **ROOM 2B-  
S.H.I.E.L.D HEADQUARTERS**

Stiles has only had two hours of sleep in the past four days, eleven hours, and thirty-two minutes.

He knows- he's been counting.

He wouldn't say he was leaning on being delirious- because _no_ , Stiles Stilinski did not get delirious- but his sarcasm was right on the surface, and his comments were even more ferocious.

After Barton fled when he was saw Stiles' arc reactor, he was pretty much left on his own for a couple of hours. The only time someone came back in, was when they brought him a plate of food that contained of a turkey and cheddar cheese sandwich, a cup of water, plastic utensils, and a cup of fruit.

He _really_ wished he would've put his Egg McMuffin in pocket, instead of his backpack.

With S.H.I.E.L.D being such a wealthy agency, the food tasted like shit. Honestly, he was offended.

He got through two bites of the so-called "sandwich" before he gave up, discarding the disgusting food to the side.

He didn't even try with the fruit, because he could smell the sanitized juice from a distance- he didn't need to experience that taste.

Really, he wasn't sure if he was even hungry anymore. It been a long time since he's eaten- probably a longer than the time it's been been since he's slept- that he just couldn't tell if he was hungry.

S.H.I.E.L.D was _so_ going to pay for depriving him of his Egg McMuffin.

Stiles ran his own fingers over the spot where the arc reactor was, his hoodie cushioning the slick metal so the only thing Stiles' felt was the rim.

Clint had seen the reactor when he grabbed the collar of his hoodie.

He had know idea what to expect after that.

-

Tony Stark gave an incredulous look towards Clint as the archer finished explaining what happened in the interrogation room.

"-and he had an arc reactor." Clint rushed to say.

" ** _What?_** " It was a mutual reaction throughout the conference room.

"An arc reactor?" Natasha parroted. "Like Tony's?"

"Exactly like Tony's. It was in his chest and everything." Clint scrubbed a hand over his face. "I was as shocked as you guys are now."

"Wait, isn't Tony the only one who could build an arc reactor like that?" Steve questioned.

Tony gave him an odd look of confusion, unsure if the Captain was serious or not. "No? I was the first to make it, and make it work." He explained. "Others have tried."

Tony thought of Vanko, and how Hammer had entrusted the fugitive to kill him.

"But they've failed." He added.

"Like who?" Steve followed up.

"It doesn't matter," Rhodey cut in, bless him. "What matters now is the kid, and if he does have an arc reactor. Where would he get one?"

"Maybe he made it." Wilson suggested.

"Possible, but where would he get the blueprints to create it?" Banner questioned, giving a reasonable outlook.

"He claimed to hack S.I, but we won't know for sure until we can force it out of him." Barton explained. "But he's proven to only be annoying and snarky."

"So, exactly like Stark?" Sam snickered.

Tony rolled his eyes, "Witty." He said sarcastically.

"Probably worse." Clint cut in, "And yes, I know it's surprising but it's possible."

"How sweet." Tony deadpanned. "But I'm one of a kind, and the best. That kid has nothing on me."

"Of course not," Rhodey cut in, rolling his eyes, "Despite being a delinquent, he's basically a mini you."

"I second that." It annoyed Tony about how fast Sam agreed.

"We're getting off topic here," Bruce pointed out, though he had a ghost of a smile on his face.

"I agree," Fury nodded. "Now, we need to figure out what exactly he knows. If he did build an arc reactor, there's no telling what he could be planning."

"I think we should send Nat in, I'm pretty sure she can get some answers out of him." Clint suggested.

"Um no," Tony denied, "We should send me in. If this kid really is a genius, then I wanna talk to him."

"Tony, he isn't a machine. You're not gonna say one word and he's gonna follow every command." Banner deadpanned.

"Maybe he'll talk to someone of the same intelligence." He shot back.

"Who knows, maybe Stilinski might talk since both Stark and him are arrogant assholes." Natasha spouted off, looking Tony right in the eye as she said it.

Everyone knew she was joking, since her and Tony had a good friendship- strained, but good nonetheless.

"Haha, so funny." He said sarcastically. "You kiss the Hawk with that mouth?"

Both Natasha and Clint flipped him off, though it was expected.

Tony glanced back at the monitor that looked into the room they were keeping Stiles in. A food tray was pushed away towards the middle of the table, the food barely eaten.

The kid had taken his beanie off, revealing messy hair that hung just barely above his eyes- obviously unkept.

Stiles' chin was resting on his folded arms, the kid managing to look bored and peaceful at the same time, but Stark liked to think he saw through the facade.

He was obviously planning something.

"Look, I'll just talk to him for a little bit, okay? Then Nat can have a go." For once, he was speaking sincerely.

Apparently no one had any objections, not even Cap or Fury, which somewhat surprised him.

But he could dwell on that later, now, he had a seventeen year old fugitive to interrogate.

-

Two years ago, if you would've told Stiles he would have the chance to talk to Tony Stark, he'd be ecstatic.

But now, when Stiles found himself sitting across from the billionaire at the metal table, he wasn't impressed at all.

"What?" Tony was the first to break the silence that had filled for a couple of minutes. "Come on, I know I'm amazing, I mean, I am _the_ Tony Stark."

Stiles raised an eyebrow, "Not really." He stated. "I mean, if it was Bruce Wayne, probably. But not you."

"Please," Tony rolled his eyes. "What is Bruce Wayne that I'm not?"

"For starters," Stiles smirked, "Bruce Wayne is cool."

That seemed to snap Tony Stark out of whatever egotistical surge he was going into, the billionaire leaning forward, giving Stiles a hard look, "Where'd you get the arc reactor?" He was pretty forward with the question.

"It was fifty percent off at Walmart, I couldn't pass up such a good deal." He retorted, sneering slightly.

"If you didn't get it from someone, where'd you get the blueprints from?" Tony really did hope that this kid didn't hack into his company  

"A Bob Ross tutorial."

"Bob Ross is a painter."

"Good, you're catching on." Stiles scowled, "I'm not telling you anything."

"Then that means you've got something to hide." Stark pointed out. "What is it?"

"What part of 'I'm not telling you anything', do you not get?" He rolled his eyes. "You know, for a genius, you're pretty stupid."

"You're just making things harder for yourself. Just tell me where you got the blueprints to make the reactor." Tony tapped his fingers against the table.

"Dude, I literally told Bird Brain that I hacked into your company. Where do you think I got them?" Stiles scoffed. "By the way, your security system was a lot easier to bypass than I thought, I was expecting a challenge."

Tony stared at him for second, not because he didn't know what to say, but because he noticed something.

"You know, I used to be like you." He stated clearly. "I covered things up with rude remarks and sarcastic looks, but let me tell you something- there's always someone who can see through them. And right now, I can see through yours."

Stiles glared at him, "No matter how much you see through me, you're not gonna find anything." He sneered.

"But you're already telling me everything I need?" Tony said smoothly, though it was more a trick than a true statement.

"Oh really," The seventeen year old countered, "Then what exactly have I told you?"

Tony stayed silent, giving Stiles a pointed look. Really, the kid barely told them more than they already knew.

"Genius, right?" He questioned. "Did you know that I'm sponsoring scholarship opportunities for high schoolers?"

Stiles raised an eyebrow- this was not the answer he was expecting. "It's all over Twitter." He said stiffly.

"Did you apply for it?"

He was even more confused as to why Tony was bringing it up, but he went along with it. "No. I've got other plans."

"Like what, blowing up another police station?" Tony gave him a look.

Stiles let out an irritated noise, "Wow, you're so funny. Weren't you the one who created weapons that got sold to terrorists?" He sneered back.

He knew it was a low blow, especially since Tony Stark was taken hostage for three months, but Stiles was preying on his problems the same way Tony was.

"Didn't you try to kill your lacrosse coach?"

"I'm pretty sure it was your best friend who sold the weapons, and tried to kill you."

"Listen kid, I don't know who you think you are b-"

"I'm someone who was taken against my will." Stiles spat. "Sorry for not wanting to be here."

"You're a suspected terrorist, do you understand how bad that is?" Tony questioned.

"Well, I'm not. How about you take my word for it and leave me alone?" Batman would honestly be a better interrogator.

Hell, _Scott_ would be a better interrogator.

Stiles- being the asshole he was- sat nicely, keeping his hands clasped in front of him on the table, though the metal cuff tugged on his wrist.

"Too bad you're a bad person," Tony said, his tone harsh. "You would've been a great addition to my company. I think we're done here."

And no matter how much the comment hurt, Stiles made sure to flip Tony off on his way out.

-

When Natasha entered the room, she entered the room with plans to crack the little seventeen year old that was giving everyone a hard-time.

To her, the kid didn't look like much, but she knew that those were usually ones that got away with the most.

" _Dzień dobry_ ," She said smoothly, sitting in the open chair with practiced ease. " _Stiles, prawda?_ " **_Good afternoon, Stiles right?_**

Stiles curiously trained his eyes on the assassin, surprised to hear the way Polish rolled off of Natasha's tongue. " _Tak, zabójca?_ " **_Yeah, assassin right?_**

But, no matter how much how nice his native language sounded, he wasn't going to let his guard down.

Natasha merely smiled, though the act held a lot more heat behind it then it should've. " _Ach, widzę, że stworzyłeś kłopoty. Ale chciałbym ci powiedzieć, że nie lubię Hawkeye czy Iron Man, kochanie. Jestem czarną wdową._ " **_Ah, I see you've created some trouble. But, I'd like to inform you that I'm not like Hawkeye or Iron Man, sweetheart. I'm Black Widow._**

Stiles refused to be intimidated by her, though it didn't work as well as he wanted it to. Something about her reminded him of Lydia, and Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn't somewhat scared of the strawberry blonde force to be reckoned with.

"I've never been one to listen." He spoke in English. There was something about speaking Polish that made him feel more vulnerable to her manipulation.

Natasha didn't say anything, instead she reached into her leather jacket, pulling out a thick file and casually tossed it onto the table.

Stiles rolled his eyes at the stamp of his name on the very front of the manila folder.

"Come to gloat on the things you think you know about me?" He questioned.

"We know a lot about you, Stiles." She said, "The only thing we don't know is why you did it."

Stiles gave her a bored look, "Maybe because I didn't do it?" He stated, forming into a question to show his annoyance.

"Look closely at the photos," She said stiffly. "We obtained those from security footage, and that is your face."

"I'm fairly sure that if Gods and aliens can exist, then someone can create technology that can recreate facial features in a manner of seconds. Con artists and terrorists would go crazy with that, Miss Romanoff." He spoke quickly. "And even if it was me, I've read your file even before you and Captain Rogers leaked it onto the internet, you have no room to talk."

Natasha looked at the teenager in front of her, one that didn't seem to cower away from her, despite knowing the things she's done. But unlike him- or so she believed- she didn't have a choice.

"There's a difference between the two of us," She retorted, "One of us is actively making up for their mistakes, and the other is chained to a table."

Stiles raised an eyebrow, "The only mistake I made was taking off my backpack." Nostalgic, he thought of his poor breakfast sandwich.

"Why? Got something to hide?" Black Widow smirked.

"No," He said simply. "But I have a McDonald's breakfast sandwich in there that I really wish I had shoved into my pocket instead."

Natasha shook her head, "Trust me, _dziecko_ , where you'll be going, you won't be having a breakfast sandwich ever. Might as well get used to it now."

This was another tactic she used during interrogations - anger. If she was able to rile them up, they'd hopefully become a loose canon and crack.

"I'm not going anywhere." Stiles was confident in the plan he had been formulating since he was given the awful food.

"What makes you so sure?" She continued, "Even if you don't confess, we have enough information that can put you away for a long, long time. You killed those people, Stiles, and every action has an equal and opposite reaction."

Stiles' nostrils flared as he felt the pit in his stomach grow even larger. How dare she- how dare they- how dare he-

He didn't know who to blame.

Himself? He let the Nogitsune in.

S.H.I.E.L.D? They kidnapped him.

Black Widow? She's the one who's trying to break him.

And it was working.

"It wasn't me." He said through gritted teeth.

"Then who was it?" Romanoff pushed, intent on getting answers.

He took a deep breath, "What makes you think I know?" He tried, though he _did_ know.

"You do know." She stated. "You know that you're the one who blew up the police station and shot your lacrosse coach. You know you did it."

"It wasn't me." He said harshly.

"It was you." She fired back with the same amount of intensity. "All you have to do is tell me why you did it, who knows? Maybe you'll be able to plead insanity."

Insanity.

 _Insanity_.

The word cut into him like a knife, bringing back the harsh memories of words falling off paper and the stump of an old tree.

He was insane.

But now, he's not. Now, he's _only_ Stiles.

"I'm not insane." He hated how his voice cracked when he spat those words.

Natasha smirked, knowing that she was about to get something she needed.

"What about Eichen House, Stiles? Didn't you put yourself there because you were insane?" She questioned.

"I-"

"Or how you disappeared from the building after two people were found dead?"

Malia and Oliver were _not_ him!

"This is your fault, isn't it? Didn't you help save Malia, only to get her killed in an mental institution? Or were you the one to kill her, and Oliver?" Natasha knew what she was doing was low, but she didn't come here to make friends. "Just-"

"It was not my fault!" He yelled, cutting her off. "It's not my fault Malia died, or that Oliver killed her! And it's not my fault that Oliver killed himself after he decided to dig into my chest and try to kill me! That's why I have the arc reactor, not to participate in any evil plan you guys believe I have, but so I can breathe!"

Despite to partial confession, Natasha just smiled at him, grabbing the file before she stood up, "Thank you for your participation." She said, as if he wanted to do that.

And Black Widow left the room, pondering in confusion about the wound Stiles said he received.

The body that was supposedly Stiles only had a gash across the stomach.

-

Stiles was fed up, to say the least.

His head hurt, and he could feel his fingers buzzing with unleashed electricity.

His chest throbbed, his eyes glancing at the light blue glow of his arc reactor. His whole outburst just complicated things further.

Stiles missed Beacon Hills.

He missed his home, and the worst part was, he knew- deep down inside- that he would probably never see it again.

He wasn't safe enough to be around- and he'd be damned if he hurt anyone else.

But that still didn't stop the way he missed the town, his friends, his family.

Stiles hoped that his Dad was eating well- or at least that Melissa was with him to keep him from a downward spiral.

He hoped that Scott was doing better in school, and that Stiles' disappearance didn't hinder whatever upward spiral his bestfriend was having before the whole Nogitsune debacle.

He hoped that Allison could keep him happy, because they both deserved to have wonderful lives.

He hoped Kira didn't blame herself, or her family, for what had went down in Beacon Hills. The Nogitsune didn't come because of them, it only had used the Yukimuras as a pawn in its wicked game.

He hoped that Melissa was doing okay, considering how heartbroken she seemed during Stiles' MRI when the chaos first erupted. He'd never want to hurt Melissa in anyway.

Stiles wondered if Isaac still had the same hatred for him as he had before. Was he even effected by what happened to Stiles?

He wondered if Isaac still lived with the McCalls, or if he had moved in with the Argents. Stiles knew that he'd be welcome in either household.

He wondered if Meredith was okay, had she sensed what happened? Did she sense Malia and Oliver's death? Oh God, did Lydia sense their deaths?

He wondered if Lydia got some sense of control with her banshee abilities, and if she was coping well.

He wondered if his Dad drank whiskey the same he did when his Mom died.

He wondered if he'd ever be the same person he was last year.

Stiles' mind went to the events of almost dying in the cold basement of Eichen House, the way he staggered out clutching a bloody chest.

He wouldn't let himself die, that was too easy, not after everything he had done. He didn't deserve to die, he deserved to live and suffer.

Dying is easy, living is harder.

-

Captain Rogers paused in front of the thick metal door for a moment, trying to think of a rational way to talk to the teenager waiting inside.

Clint used snark, Tony used sarcasm, and Natasha used wit.

And only one of them was able to get answers out of Stiles.

His hand hovered over the doorknob as he roughly formed a tactic in his head- if he approached this maturely, maybe it would be contagious.

When he entered the room, Stiles didn't turn to see who was approaching, instead he stayed leaned back in his chair, carelessly messing with the threads of his hoodie.

"Afternoon, Stiles." Steve said smoothly as he slid down onto the chair.

Stiles' eyes glanced up, seemingly sizing Steve up. "Afternoon." He spoke back, though he wasn't as casual as Steve was. "Come to ask me useless questions, like the rest?"

"Well, from what I've heard, one of Natasha's questions was able to get answers out of you." He retorted.

"Not really surprising in my book, redheads have some kind of effect on me." Stiles shrugged.

Steve raised an eyebrow, that was a weird thing to say. Or at least, until he remembered that in Stiles' file, he was friends with one Lydia Martin.

"Black Wid-"

"What's up with the nicknames huh? They're pretty useless you know, considering that I know all of your names." Stiles interrupted.

Wow, Steve thought. This kid really is worse than Stark.

"Black Widow," He continued. "Mentioned how you were in Eichen Hous-"

"She didn't mention anything about that, it was in the file." He rolled his eyes. "If you want me to talk, maybe you should stop lying."

All do this was really getting on Stiles' last nerve.

"Fine," Steve said stiffly. "How about you tell me about your time there?"

"How about I don't, and we pretend I did?" Stiles suggested.

"You're making this more complicated than it needs to be." The Captain pointed out.

Stiles stared at him with lifted eyebrows, giving him an incredulous look. His eyes scanned the super soldier before he figured this was the perfect time to carry out his plan.

Silently, he pulled the prongs of the plastic fork out of the pocket on his hoodie, his fingers silently working under the table to unlock the handcuff.

"You know, I read your files before they were even leaked." He stated. "They weren't as action packed I was hoping, just facts and stuff on your health and everything."

The grip on his wrist loosened and Stiles had to fight back a grin.

"But you know, there's one thing that I found interesting about you," Stiles spoke, keeping his eyes on the Captain as to not give away his intentions. "You have the ability to heal faster than anyone else. The super serum sped up the ability, which makes things a lot easier."

He held the edges of his gloves, ready to strike.

"See, I don't really want to hurt anyone, but I need a compromise if I'm going to get out of here." He watched as Steve opened his mouth to call for help from his com piece. "I'm sorry, Cap, this isn't personal."

Stiles stood up quickly, the unlocked handcuff falling off as he ripped off his gloves.

Before Captain America could finish his call for backup, Stiles slammed his bare hands on the metal table, the electricity that buzzed in his veins traveling to the metal, then to Steve's vulnerable skin.

In a matter of seconds, Captain American was incapacitated and Stiles was out the door, sirens blaring loudly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whaddya think? 
> 
> dziecko = kid


	4. chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the plan is to fan this spark into a flame.

**escape.**

_****004._

In retrospect,  _maybe, just maybe_ he should've given his plan just a little more thought.

 

Stiles really wasn't expecting the chance to reveal itself so...early, but the moment Captain America stepped into the room, he knew that this was his time to escape. 

 

He honestly didn't want to hurt anyone so Steve was a good candidate for him to get out. The super soldier would heal, and it was only a matter of time before the calvary arrived to take Stiles back into his imprisonment.

 

It wasn't until he was sprinting down unfamiliar corridors that he realized that he had no idea where he was going or where the nearest exit was. The siren's were still blaring, which only served to fuel his anxiety.

 

His first objective was to find his backpack and bat, then he needed to get the hell out of there. He could already hear shouts nearby, the telltale sign that people were on their way to obtain him.

 

Stiles refrained from running his hands along the walls, too nervous as to what would happen if he touched the cool metal. His eyes scanned every door he passed, hoping to find one that would lead to evidence of some sort. He really needed to hurry, there was no time to waste.

 

He slid past a door marked " **Items of S.I.C** ", the lanky teen quickly scrambling backwards. In a split second, he pulled down the sleeve of his hoodie to cover his hand before he tried the doorknob, groaning when he found it to be locked. His eyes wandered towards the key pad on the wall next to the door, his mind coming up with many possibilities of things he could do if he _just_ touched touched it with his bare fingers.

 

He took a deep breathe, raising shaky fingers towards the machine, warily pressing them against the key pad. He watched in awe as the electricity he seemed to always carry overpowered the key pad, sparks flying as it powered down. He grinned in satisfaction once a small 'click' sounded, signaling that the door was now unlocked. 

 

Stiles didn't waste any time as he yanked open the door, quickly shutting the door behind him as he stepped into the small room. Cage-like lockers lined the walls, half of them empty and the other half were occupied. He breathed a sigh of relief when he recognized the black backpack that sat in one of the lockers, his silver baseball bat in the one next to it. 

 

Instead of attempting to pick the lock- which would've taken too much time- he made the split decision to take off his shoe and rammed it against the lock for the bat until it broke off. He thanked his lucky stars once it did, quickly pulling his ratty shoe back on. 

 

His fingers twitched as they connected with the metal bat, leaving Stiles momentarily memorized as the bat seemed to surge with electricity. He couldn't watch it for long, however, as he turned his attention towards the other locker, swinging the bat backwards as he delivered a hard bash against the metal lock, satisfied with the way it broke after the one hit. Stiles lurched forward, yanking the backpack into his grasp and onto his shoulders with surprising elegance. 

 

It didn't take long for him to spin around, pulling the door open and sprinting out as fast as he could. His lungs might've burned like they were dying, but his will to get out of there wasn't. There was no way in hell that he would stay here.

 

A shriek of terror left his mouth when he turned the corner, his body coming into contact with a solid object that knocked him to the ground. The bat flew out of his hands and the the other wall, out of Stiles' reach. He looked up in shock, his breath hitching in his throat as he saw the Iron Man suit looming over him. 

 

He clumsily scrambled backwards, pushing himself to his feet, his eyes flickering to his only weapon every few seconds as he tried to create some course of action that would help him. "What the hell dude?" He tried to stall. "Is it a hobby of yours to go around knocking unsuspecting teenagers to the ground?" 

 

A snort sounded from the red and gold helmet, Iron Man taking one step closer and Stiles one step back. "Funny," Tony spoke, "Do you make it a hobby to shock super soldiers?" 

 

"Only when needed actually." Stiles quickly retorted, his tone icy with sarcasm. 

 

"Well, fun's over, kid. There's really no way your getting out of here." Another step forward, another step backwards.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes, "You see, I've never been good with odds being against me so I pretty much write my own story- and the ending to this one is me getting the hell out of here." He took a deep breathe before he literally dived past Iron Man, landing next to his beloved baseball bat. 

 

He picked it up, gripping it so tight that his knuckles turned white. "That was cute." The Avenger said condescendingly, turning around with crossed metal arms. 

 

Stiles sneered, "I have more tricks up my sleeve." He retaliated, swinging the bat in a fitful attempt to incapacitate Tony.

 

However, it didn't happen like he planned, instead, Iron Man raised one hand, catching the bat in it. Stiles quickly let go of the bat, not expecting the quick reflexes- he feared that he might've electrocuted Tony if he held on any longer. He  _really_ didn't want to accidentally end anyone's life.

 

He turned to run, only for a metal hand to wrap around his arm, pulling him backwards. He struggled to get free, though there really was no option of escaping without using his hands. Stiles would have to find some way to use his abilities, whether or not it got one of them hurt. 

 

"Let go." He said simply, though it was a plea. "I don't want to hurt you, let go!" He struggled in the grip, trying to pull his arm free- but it was useless, there was no way he would ever be stronger than a fully functioning metal suit.

 

"Don't make this harder on yourself," Tony deflected. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

 

Stiles rolled his eyes, his lips pursed into a straight line, "Guess we're doing it my way," He spat, bringing his free hand up to grasp the metal arm holding him captive. He squeezed his eyes shut as his fingers wrapped around the forearm, Stiles mentally praying that he could control this.

 

He gasped as he felt his arm tingling, his eyes opening as he realized that he was stealing the power from the suit instead of his own overpowering it. It felt like time was slowing down as the eyes of the Iron Man suit dimmed. Stiles watched in surprise as he was able to pull his wrist out with no problem, and he couldn't help the smug smile that came upon his face when he heard Tony's muffled shouts through the mask.

 

"Sorry, dude." He shrugged. "I'm out." He sarcastically threw up a peace sign as he bent down once again to grab his bat before continuing his expedition to find an exit. 

 

Stiles felt pride swell in his chest as realized his abilities weren't limited to only expelling electricity but as it seems, he could absorb it as well. He felt renewed adrenaline fill his bones as he sprinted down the hall, mentally running over the many possibilities of how he could use them to his advantage.

 

First, maybe he'd start with these goddamn sirens.

 

He paused as he came down to the end of the corridor, setting the bat on the ground so it leaned against his legs before he rubbed his hands together, holding them in front of the wall. Now, the wall _wasn't_ metal, but if he focused, maybe he could still draw the electricity from the whole building.

 

"Okay," He breathed, whispering to himself. "I can do this." He pressed his palms flat against the wall, closing his eyes as he focused on absorbing the electricity that kept S.H.I.E.L.D running. 

 

It took a moment, but it wasn't long before Stiles felt like he was getting stronger, electricity filling his veins. He opened his eyes, slightly surprised as he found that the lights were now flickering only for them to go off, leaving Stiles in pure darkness. He pulled back from the wall, letting out a gleeful shout as he pumped his fist victoriously in the air. 

 

Stiles grinned brightly, feeling a sense of happiness for the first time in over a month. Now the only thing left for him to do was to get out of this god-forsaken place.

 

He hadn't realized it before, but by causing a blackout in the building, it made Stiles search for an exit much easier. A dull light signaled some type natural light, and Stiles ran towards it. He whistled, not caring if anyone could here, once he came into contact with a medium sized window. He peeked out of it, biting his lip in thought when he realized that he was on the second floor- if he wanted to go through the window, it'd be a slight drop to the ground.

 

He took a deep breath, bringing the bat back before swinging against the strong glass, feeling slightly annoyed when it didn't break easily. Drawing his arms back once more, he bashed the window a second time, though this time, it actually shattered. "Finally," He mumbled as he knelt down, pulling his hoodie over his head to protect him from the glass shards. 

 

Stiles slid out of the window, gripping the sill tightly as he balanced on the side. He let out a shaky breath, looking down towards the ground as he mentally calculated the fall he would have to take. Carefully, he pulled off his backpack- one arm at a time, tossing it down. Despite how stupid the idea was, he realized that maybe if he landed on the pillow that occupied his backpack, he would lessen the impact of jumping out of a window. 

 

Shouts behind caused him to flinch, almost  _falling_ from where he was perched. With a look of horror, Stiles turned his head, making out the figures of several bodies running towards him. It was now or never. He had to jump. 

 

With clenched fists, Stiles leaped towards the ground, a loud shriek escaping. He didn't have long before he hit the ground, and his instincts had him bending his knees- like he saw in all those action movies when the protagonist leapt off a rooftop. 

 

Amazement surged through him as he found himself landing on his feet, and even though he stumbled forward a few steps, he was relatively okay. And if he wasn't, the adrenaline powering through him was doing a damn good job making him feel as if he were on cloud nine. 

 

In a swift movement, Stiles yanked his backpack back on and was sprinting down the road. He couldn't help the excitement that left him jumping slightly as he ran or the way he kept shouting in delight. 

 

He did it, he made it out.

 

-

 

 

Tony gasped in relief once the face mask was pulled way from the suit, the poor genius wiping away the sweat that gathered on his forehead. "Rhodey, thank God." He breathed as his best friend's face came into view. "That little shit is so gonna pay if he ruined my suit." 

 

He was finally freed from the heat of his confinement when Rhodey flipped the switches his suit held, the billionaire stumbling out of the suit. "Tell me you guys caught him."

 

"Yeah, about that..." Rhodey trailed off, "He jumped out a window." 

 

"So he's dead? Is that what you're trying to tell me?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

 

"No," Rhodes rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to tell you that he got away. By the time they got the power back on and were able to get people out there, he was gone."

 

Tony looked perplexed, "What do you mean "get the power back on"?" He questioned.

 

"He drained the building the same way he drained your suit, it took a lot of work to fix it." He explained. "Everyone's planning on suiting up," He smirked slightly as he scanned the frozen Iron Man suit. "But first we've got to figure out where he went." 

 

"Obviously," Tony stated, "We're going to need to get access to traffic cams. How long has it been since he's got away?" 

 

"About thirty minutes."

 

Tony rolled his eyes as he realized that he was stuck in his suit for the same amount of time. "And no one sent any cars out? He couldn't have gotten far, even if he was running."

 

"They did." The two began making their way back to the conference room. "It didn't take long before they realized that he cut through the woods."

 

"That's why no one's trying to follow him, we're gonna wait for him to get to the city, right?" He queried. "That's not a bad plan, actually." Tony realized all the possibilities they now had if Stiles made back into New York City, where there'd most likely be more ways to track his whereabouts. 

 

Tony needed to get to a computer quick- he was now making it his personal mission to apprehend Stiles Stilinski and bring him back to custody.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that the avengers part is short! Next chapter will have a lot of action though, I promise! comment what you think:)


	5. chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm laughin’ in the face of casualties and sorrow. For the first time, i’m thinkin’ past tomorrow

**run.**

_005._

It's crazy how in one month, Stile can go from being out of breath by running for only five minutes to sprinting continuously for thirty.

 

It's a damn shame that he couldn't be showing it off in front of the lacrosse team.

 

But lacrosse wasn't what was on his mind, instead, he couldn't get rid of the constant feeling that  _someone was on his tail._ The very thought only pushed him to run harder, the fear of being back in that interrogation room was enough to fill his body with much needed adrenaline.

 

He can't go back, not when he was sure they knew about his little...electrical problem.

 

Which was what led to his tattered shoes crunching against dead leaves as Stiles ran close to the tree line, hoping fitfully that the shade the trees provided would be enough to keep him somewhat out of sight.

 

In all honesty, he had no idea where in the hell he was, but the rational part of his mind told him that if he followed the path of the road, he would make into the city at some point.

 

The (forced) car ride to the facility Stiles was brought into wasn't long, which meant that he was still in New York. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to tell what direction they were going, so he wasn't sure which way they left New York City. But he had to make it there at some point, right?

 

Soon, the inevitable made itself present as a stabbing pain shot through Stiles' chest, catching the boy so off-guard that he tripped over his own feet. He gasped in surprise as he made a few unwanted somersaults, only to land hard on his back with a wheeze. Out of breath, Stiles slowly sat up, groaning quietly as he could feel the soreness of his legs battle with the pain in his chest to see which one could cause him more discomfort.

 

With shaky hands, he pulled back the material of shirt and hoodie, his hazel eyes flickering down at the still-glowing arc reactor that resided in his skin. On the outside, it didn't seem like anything was wrong, but strain in his chest said otherwise- but he couldn't dwell on it now, he needed to get back into the city.

 

It took longer than it should have, but Stiles eventually pulled himself up and off of the ground. Luckily, his backpack was still on his back, because he knew that if he had to bend down to get something, he wouldn't be able to stand back up. 

 

He had no idea why his chest was suddenly exploding with pain, but he knew that it wasn't a good thing. Especially if a hunk of metal was the only thing standing between Stiles and death. Truth was, he wasn't exactly sure if he cared anymore- the only thing he cared about was being alone. If he was alone, he couldn't hurt anybody.

 

He sighed unhappily, trekking down the grass. He was unbelievably tired, but there was no time to stop. Stiles wouldn't even sleep if he had the chance, especially considering that his slumber was always plagued with nightmares distorting and reliving the past.

 

Pushing through was the only real option anymore.

 

**S.H.I.E.L.D HEADQUARTERS**

 

Silence was never a usual occurrence when it came to the agency's headquarters. There was always something going, no matter what time of day, and some elite team of specialists was on the case. 

 

But right now, people were scattered throughout the dark building- some were working on restoring the stolen power, others were working tirelessly to find out what exactly Stiles' intentions after his escape were.

 

Nick Fury was standing in front of a table of Earth's Mightiest Heroes, his fingers twiddling a black pen as he waited for some sort of answer for a question he asked  _five_ minutes ago- "How the hell did they let Stiles Stilinski escape?"

 

His desertion was almost as bad when Loki took off from the air craft at the beginnings of the Battle of New York.

 

It didn't help that this time, Captain Rogers was ridden incapacitated by the hands of a teenager, one that they had no reason to believe he harbored some kind of ability- but sure enough, he had.

 

Electrokinesis. 

 

It was like the more they thought they knew about this kid, the more he proved that he was actually an enigma. 

 

They needed to find him before he could do anymore damage.

 

"Maybe he's working for HYDRA," Clint Barton spoke up, lifting his chin from where it was rested on his fist. Everyones attention turned towards the archer, their minds racing about the possibility of his statement. "Like one of there experiments."

  
"It's probable," Banner concluded. "Especially considering the brief display of his abilities-"

 

"He took out the power in the building and Stark's suit. Not to mention he electrocuted." Clint interrupted.

 

"I was trying to sugar coat it, but thank you." Bruce mumbled. 

 

"It's remarkable really," Tony said, "This kid is probably strong enough to take all the power at New York in a split second," He explained. "So why isn't he? I'm sure that would make HYDRA's plans a lot easier." 

 

"So he wouldn't be working for HYDRA, but he would still be a science experiment." Sam agreed.

 

"HYDRA had control over the Winter Soldier, who says they don't have control of Stiles' mind?" Natasha pointed out, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed. She held a level of professionalism in just the one pose. 

 

 

Tony nodded, "Good point." He tapped his chest with his fingers, an unbroken habit of his from before he got his arc reactor removed. "That would explain why he electrocuted Cap, HYDRA seems to have something against him." He said bluntly. Unfortunately, he had no access to any computers, for his arrival at HQ was last second, but he did have his trusty STARK phone, which was a laptop in itself really. "That also explains why he mentioned he didn't want to hurt anyone," The more he thought about it, the more the pieces fell together.

 

"That doesn't explain the whole mental hospital business," Coulson mentioned.

 

"Unless," Bruce corrected, "HYDRA infiltrated. When Steve took down those ships, he didn't take out every HYRDA agent. Oliver could've just as easily been the one who experimented on Stiles-"

 

"Yes!" Thor bellowed. "Yet that does not explain how the Son of Stilinski was given an arc reactor similar to the Man Of Iron's." 

 

"I have to agree with Point Break," Tony nodded, "I think the kid built it himself, he seems intelligent enough."

 

"Intelligent enough?" Rhodey mocked him. "Tony, he hacked your company."

 

And dammit, Tony  _was_ pissed about that. 

 

"Yeah, and he hacked S.H.I.E.L.D's, I'm not alone here."

 

"Okay," Fury interrupted their bickering, "Assuming that he is one of HYDRA's, that makes even more of a reason to apprehend him. It's been two hours, I'm sending people in." He explained. "Once Captain Rogers is cleared, I want all units in."

 

It sounded simple, if it only it actually was.

 

**OUTSKIRTS OF NEW YORK CITY**

 

Stiles spun his backpack around, his fingers searching for the zipper. His stomach was growling annoyingly, and it wasn't until a few seconds ago that he remembered that he had slipped his breakfast sandwich into his bag before he beat the shit out of those S.H.I.E.L.D agents with his beloved baseball bat. 

 

He was silently praying that it was still there.

 

Stiles yanked the zipper open, peering down into his bag, searching for the yellow paper McDonald's always wrapped their breakfast items in. 

 

He frowned slightly as he realized that it wasn't in his direct sight, so he was forced to actually move some of the bag's contents around in search of his much needed food. 

 

Still, there was no sign of it.

 

"Those sons of bitches," He mumbled in annoyance as he pulled the zipper closer with an irritable manner. "Really?" He looked up at the sky, shouting loudly. "You're just going to make my day worse, huh?!" Stiles knew it was pathetic- screaming at the sky for the things that have gone wrong, but it seemed like the rational thing to do at the moment.

 

But of course, the universe just had to answer his question, because the next thing he knew, the already dim sky was growing darker as rain began to drizzle down. "Yes, thank you!" He shouted sarcastically before letting out a frustrated yell.

 

A hearty cough left his mouth after the indignant sound, his hand flying up to his mouth as his body began to shake with the force of his coughing fit. The world just loved to make him suffer. 

 

He stopped walking, his movements frozen as he struggled to get air into his body to counter the roughness of his hacking. Slowly, but surely, he was soon able to breathe without any hoarseness, but it caused some unneeded pain. Something was wrong, and the rain was only making it worse.

 

Once he calmed down, Stiles pulled the hood over his head to try and lessen the affect of the rain, but it was to no avail- it soaked right through the material and onto his hair and face.

 

Today really did suck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update! Big stuff is happening next chapter, just you wait ! anyone noticing these hamilton quotes:)


	6. chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints

**hunted.**

_006_

When Steve opened his eyes, he wasn't expecting to be surrounded by white walls.

The scene felt all too familiar, especially considering that the last time this happened, he had just woken up from a seventy year nap.

He looked around, scanning the area as he realized that he was currently in a hospital room, though he wasn't exactly sure why.

Part of him was nervous that he had slept for another seventy years, but it was only a few seconds later that memories of the past twenty four hours flooded back into his mind.

Steve had went in to interview Stiles, but only minutes into talking to him, the teenager slammed his hands on the table and then everything had went dark.

He let out an groan as he realized that a kid- who Steve happened to be twice the size of- was able to knock him out in a matter of seconds.

It was truly disheartening.

"Look who's finally up." Steve quickly turned towards the voice, his eyes landing on Sam.

"How long was I out?" He questioned.

"Few hours." Sam shrugged. "Kid got away after he electrocuted the shit out of you."

That was exactly what Steve hoped wouldn't happen.

"Any leads?"

"Fury has a few agents out looking for him, but a majority was stuck here trying to get the power back on. Lucky for you that you didn't need any medical attention, because the power only came back on an hour ago." Sam explained.

"How'd the power go out?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Dude, you missed so much." Sam stated. "After Stiles took you out, he basically shut down the Iron Man suit- with Tony inside. Then he drained the whole building."

Steve was surprised. He has to admit, when he first saw the kid, he really didn't think that Stiles looked like much. He was scrawny, and he looked exhausted.

But one thing that he should've realized was that he was like that at one point. Actually, he used to be even scrawnier.

He shook his head slightly, knocking himself for underestimating the teenager the same way everyone used to underestimate him.

The line between sympathizing with him and not justifying his actions was becoming blurry.

"How're you feeling?" Sam questioned, giving him a look as Steve sat up.

Honestly, he felt fine. Just like he took a long nap, not that he was electrocuted.

"Peachy." He mumbled, sitting up. Steve shook the hospital blankets off of his body, silently thanking whoever figured it was a good idea not to stuff an IV in his arm.

"You woke up at the right time, dude," Sam stated. "Fury wants to send ya'll in to get the kid, no one's really sure what kinda threat he is yet."

Steve raised an eyebrow at his friend's words, unsure if they were relevant or not. He pursed his lips in thought, thinking idly of whether or not Stiles _was_ an actual threat.

**SPOKES CHILDREN'S COMMUNITY CENTER, DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN**

While Stiles was freezing, sickly, and pissed at the world, he realized that he really wasn't above breaking into a children's community center at one o'clock in the morning.

He rationalized that, in a way, he was technically still a child, so he wasn't committing a _real_ , unjustified crime. All he wanted was some shelter away from the freezing rain that had plagued his journey since he escaped.

The weather was causing some violent shivers to rack his body- which, in a way, was a good thing. If he learned anything from sleepwalking out of his house on the coldest day in Beacon Hills, it was that shivering was a good sign that he didn't have hypothermia.

Though, that didn't stop him from hating it.

His clothes were beyond drenched and his hair was matted against his forehead, and to make things worse, the rain water dripping down his face and into his eyes.

Luckily, he had a bright enough mind to figure out that he should use his spare t-shirt to make some sort of barrier between the dirty water and his arc reactor.

He was nervous as to what would happen if unwanted liquids touched the metal, and the last thing he needed was to make the already unbearable pain worse.

Every step he took was accounted for because his shoes made a squeaking sound each time they touched the pavement. The noise was becoming extremely annoying, but it wasn't like he could take his shoes off.

He needed to get into the building.

Stiles crossed around the community center, avoiding the front door where there would most likely be security cameras. He decided to walk around back, where he prayed there would be a door.

A grin of relief, and possibly manic exhaustion, crossed his face as he was met with a dark door. At the moment, he didn't really worry about it being locked because he had gotten pretty good at picking locks.

Stiles jiggled the door knob, the fake gold stiff and unmoving in his hands- a tell-tale sign that it was locked. Quickly, he fumbled with his backpack as he spun it around to the front of his body, his fingers feeling for the zippers in the pitch black of night.

Once found, he yanked the zipper down, mentally cursing himself as he realized he would have to search for a paperclip in pure darkness- and right now, he was freezing and had no patience.

After he zipped the bag back up and put it back on the right way, he looked around the back of the building the best he could with no light.

He searching for another way to enter that didn't involve picking the lock on the door because, frankly, Stiles was way too tired to spend twenty minutes trying to find a tiny paperclip.

It was definitely a little difficult not to let out a celebratory whoop when his eyes landed on a slightly opened window, but he was able to hold it in. The only downfall to his satisfactory was that the bottom of the window was about three feet taller than Stiles was.

It sat above the door, which gave the possibility of standing on the door knob to reach it, however, the knob was only big enough for only one of his feet _and_ it was slick with rain water.

Stiles looked around, a cough leaving his mouth as he scanned the back area for anything that could be stacked. The cardboard boxes against the chain link fence? No, they were sodden by the rain. The broken bricks that were scattered around the perimeter? Not enough of them.

There wasn't anything else, or at least, from what Stiles was able to see. And it wasn't like he could just stand on his backpack, it was would shrink down from his body weight.

The doorknob solution was looking like more an option by the second.

Stiles turned, pacing back and forth as he tried to figure out what the best line of action would be. The heavy rain shrunk to a drizzle, though it was still enough to add to his constant shivers. He had to make a decision, and he had to make it soon.

His eyes fluttered back towards the doorknob, mumbling a soft "Fuck it," under his breath as he crossed over towards the door.

Stiles held his breathe as he tried his best to grip the side panels of the locked door, hesitantly bringing his right foot up. The bottom of his shoe hovered over the golden door knob, his heart beating a thousand times faster as it slowly descended upon the knob.

He reluctantly pushed himself up, balancing unsteadily on the small object. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion as he gradually slid his hands up the sides.

Stiles breathed a short sigh of relief as his fingertips met the bottom of the cracked window. He was able to grip the bottom of the window pane and push the window up wide enough for his body, but his luck seemed to end there as another cough shook his whole body, causing his foot to slip right off the slippery door knob.

In a matter of seconds, his forehead slammed onto the top of the door and he was left dangling, the only thing keeping him from fully falling back to where he started was his grip on the bottom of the window.

He was breathing heavily, his head spinning as his legs frantically scraped against the door, looking desperately for the handle.

It seemed like forever before he was stable, his foot now planted back on the door handle. His head and chest were throbbing and his hands were aching, but he couldn't give up. Not when he was so close.

Stiles mustered up all he strength he could find, pulling himself up just enough to fit his torso through the opening.

It would've been nice to say that his fall into the building was graceful, but it really wasn't. He landed with a thud onto the floor, right on his back, and just as quickly as he hit the ground, he started coughing uncontrollably.

But nothing could beat the uncontrollable bliss that he felt when he realized he made it. He was inside.

Stiles must've laid there for at least ten minutes, just staring at the ceiling, an occasional shutter from the itchy ache he felt from both his forehead and chest.

He was delighted to note how the floor was cool against the skin on his hands, not like the way the rain had been though. And how the building was warm, heating up his freezing body.

Once he finally picked himself up off the ground, he went in search of some kind of lost and found or locker room. He was in desperate need of something warm to wear.

His current clothes were sticking against his skin, and he was fairly sure that the other clothes in his backpack were soaked.

Hopefully this place has a bathroom with a hand drier.

Only five minutes into his expedition and Stiles finally slid his socks and shoes off, sick of the squeaking sound they were making against the tile floor.

The community center was pretty big, full of rooms dedicated to arts and crafts, theatre arts, technology. There was even one that held kitchenette stations, most likely for cooking classes, maybe he would find some food there.

Still, there was no sign of a front desk that would hold a list and found, or a locker that might hold extra clothes. He was beginning to lose hope.

It also didn't help that his forehead still held an uncomfortable ache. The discomfort pushed Stiles to bring his fingers up to the spot that had hit the edge of the door, slightly surprised when he felt a small laceration.

"Son of a bitch." He groaned. "Because there's literally no way I can catch a break." Stiles was so close to punching the nearest wall.

The only thing keeping him from committing such an act was his knowledge of his ability to take the power out of an entire building.

It was an actual miracle that he hadn't caused any problems just by touching the door or the window.

And yes, while he was ecstatic by the variety of his powers, he was also wary on what else he didn't know he could do. What if he was able to kill someone just by one surge of power or spark of anger?

He never wanted to kill anyone ever again.

**S.H.I.E.L.D HQ**

Tony didn't think he's ever typed so fast in his entire life. 

His fingertips flew across the keyboard in a blur of olive coloring. He was _that_ dedicated to finding Stile Stilinski's location, no matter how long it took.

He had questions that needed answering and tests that needed to be done. And he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

Tony's eyes were glued to the screen of his laptop, uncaring that the numbers at the bottom of the screen read one forty five in the morning. He had stayed up later for less important things, this was like child's play by now.

Amateur work, and Tony Stark was no amateur.

He had Stiles' location narrowed down to somewhere in Manhattan. No traffic cameras outside the city showed him leaving, yet only one camera in the city caught sight of him, and that was not a quick shot.

There was limited time in finding the teen, or at least, in Tony's mind there was.

Honestly, there was no telling what kind of damage Stiles Stilinski could do, especially if the wrong people got him.

And that got Tony thinking even more- _was_ Stiles one of HYDRA's?

It was plausible, considering his abilities and the hunk of metal in his chest, but he just didn't seem to play the part.

And yeah, there was a chance that Stiles escaped and that's why he seemed to be a semi-normal teenager- or as normal as a teen with a criminal record could get- but where did Oliver play into this?

There were many chances that HYDRA was the one that planted the body found in Beacon Hills, it was a very likely answer for the many questions Stiles' reappearance has brought to the Avengers.

But if he escaped from HYDRA, why wouldn't he just confess?

Why run back out into the world if he has nazis possibly searching for him?

For once in his life, Tony Stark was stumped.

**DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN**

His reflection was mocking him.

Yet he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from it.

Stiles stood in front of a bathroom mirror, dressed in only a pair of black boxers, staring intensely at his reflection.

A black duffel bag sat on the counter, filled with stolen clothes Stiles had found in one of lockers in the athletic room that was connected to the bathroom.

He couldn't find the strength to bring his gaze away from his reflection. He just looked so... _different_.

His hair was longer and shaggier, and it fell onto his forehead, just above his eyebrows. Some strands stuck up, and would not go back down no matter how soaked with water it was. It really was a true difference from a month ago, when he would style his hair.

He was thinner, and not in a healthy way either, _well_ , unless you count being able to see your ribs healthy.

His hip bones jutted out, very noticeable over the top of his boxers, and his legs were thin. He didn't look healthy at all.

Stiles' eyes rose up onto his chest, scanning the arc reactor that was slotted in there. The metal looked god-awful, a slight bronze tinge around the edge of the silver metal, signifying that it was rusting.

And that was not good.

Black, blue, and purple bruising circled around the arc reactor, creating a _huge_ contrast from his pale skin.

No wonder he was getting sick, his chest looked terrible.

It was disgusting, and he felt awful.

He lifted his gaze once more, his hazel eyes glancing over his face. His cheekbones were more prominent now, as was his jawline. The cut on his forehead brought a line of color on his ghostly face.

He didn't look like himself. At all.

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, blindly reaching his hand forward in search of the white t-shirt he had stolen from a random locker.

Once his fingers rubbed against soft material, he finally opened his eyes, comforted at the sight of the baggy t-shirt. He quickly pulled it on, doing anything to cover the monstrosity that was his torso.

He really couldn't bring himself to feel bad as he pulled on the pair of black joggers that were neatly folded in the gym bag, the stolen items were all of the Nike brand. Whoever he stole the clothes from had enough money to buy some more.

He looked in mirror at his appearance once again, noting how the clothes were baggy on him, but they were comfortable, so it didn't matter.

The realization that the items wouldn't be enough to keep him warm was pushed to the back of his head as he pulled the stolen grey hoodie over his head, marveling at the feeling of the soft, clean fabric on his arms.

For once, since his escape from Eichen House, he was the slightest bit happy.

Stiles picked up the empty duffel bag- slightly disappointed that there was no shoes or socks- setting it on the farther side of the counter before lifting his soaked backpack from the ground.

It was still dripping water, so he set it inside the sink in hopes that it would go down the drain instead of creating a puddle. He'd rather not have to clean up anything.

His plan was to dry what was inside his bag the best he could with the bathroom's hand drier, and then transfer everything into the duffel. It would be easier to carry, and there was much more space.

A yawn left his mouth as he held his red sweatshirt underneath the drier, leaning against the wall as he waited for the item to get at least remotely dry.

He repeated his work for about an hour. Who knew clothes would be so hard to dry?

As he was working on his jeans, he let his head rest against the wall. Stiles had meant to only close his eyes for a second, just to rest them as he waited for the pants to dry, but the next thing he knew, it was twenty minutes later, and he was laying on the tile floor.

The jeans were abandoned on the floor, the material still damp, though way better than it was before. He jumped up quickly, only to pause in his staggering steps as black dots filled his vision.

It took him a couple of seconds to figure out how he ended up laying against the floor, but he finally realized that he had fallen asleep.

On one hand, he was happy that he had actually gotten some shut-eye, and that it was a dreamless sleep actually- which was a huge step away from the nightmares that usually plagued him- but on the other hand, he was upset that he had wasted so much time.

He could only stay so long in the community center before someone showed up.

Stiles groaned as he looked towards the small windows that lined the upper walls of the athletic room. A flow of relief ran through him as he saw the sun wasn't up and that it was still dark outside, but that didn't stop him from shoving his things into the duffel bag and yanking his damp shoes on.

The further away he got from S.H.I.E.L.D, the better.

Five minutes later, he was quietly walking out of the athletic room, a full duffel bag slung across his body and his old backpack stuffed in a trash can.

He shut the door softly behind him before creeping out into the hallway, scanning the walls for a clock that would tell him how much time he had left.

He didn't get far, however, because the silent atmosphere was quickly broken by a loud thud from outside the building. Stiles jumped slightly, his eyes widening as he backed up against the wall, trying to keep himself out of sight, just in case.

"What the hell?" He mumbled underneath his breath.

Another loud noise filled his ears, and Stiles finally recognized it as the sound of a door being messed with. Well, more like someone was pounding on a door n

As if it wasn't possible, his eyes widened into saucers. He couldn't tell what door the noise was coming from, but it didn't matter. He needed to get out of there.

With a burst of bravery, Stiles followed the trail he had taken to the locker room, heading back to the door that belonged to the window he came in through.

But just to his luck, the noises were emitting from the back door. Stiles' breath hitched in his throat as he slowly backed away.

Another loud pound sent his scrambling backwards, spinning around on his heels only to sprint down the corridor.

It didn't really cross his mind that he had no idea where he was going, he just went where his feet took him.

His fears only grew as shouts filled his ears- whoever was trying to get into the building had succeeded.

Stiles paused for a split second, his head turning frantically for somewhere to go, only to yank open a random door. He cursed under his breath as he was met with a flight of stairs, though he didn't turn back.

Ignoring every burst of pain that shot through his body, Stiles powered up the stairs, adrenaline bursting through his veins in a futile attempt to escape whoever was after him.

After he scaled a pair of stairs, he encountered another flight as well as a door when he reached the landing. Pausing once again, he glanced behind him, and once he realized no one seemed to be following, he decided to open up the door.

He poked his head in, disappointed to only find an office. There was no ah that was going to help him, there wasn't even windows inside- or at least, to what Stiles could seen

The slamming of the door downstairs caused him to flinch, quickly shutting the one he had opened and booking it up the next flight of stairs.

The stomping of footsteps that now filled the air pushed him to go even faster. It wasn't long before Stiles was met with another door, but this time, he didn't hesitate to open it.

He yanked the door open, practically diving into whatever it led to, slamming it shut behind him. It was only after he moved away from whatever was coming for him, that he noticed the warmth of the building was gone.

Stiles spun around, groaning as he found himself to be outside. The door had led to the roof. He crossed over to the edge, looking down as he debated whether he was too high to jump.

Whoever had gotten into the building was getting closer, even if they did check the office for him, the second flight of stairs wouldn't take long to get up.

For what seemed like the millionth time, Stiles was about to try and defy death. He backed up a little, planning on getting a bit of running start for his leap off of the community center when a glint of metal caught his eyes.

There was a wide pipe going down the side of the building that connected to the top of the roof.

"Oh thank god." He said, his voice hysterical with relief.

Stiles twisted, running towards the pipe. He was barely situated to slide down when the door burst open, several men running onto the pavement.

Uncaring of whether or not he would injure himself again, Stiles let himself fall down the metal pipe. His eyes were wide with shock as he realized that whoever broke in after him weren't just random thugs.

No, random thugs didn't wear a badge that held a skull surrounded by six tentacles.

The people after him belonged to HYDRA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you guys think? nice change of pace and the action is finally starting !!


	7. chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet. for just a moment. a yellow sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY REALLY BIG WARNING. SOMEONE DROWNS OKAY?? DONT READ IT IF IT WILL RNING ON BAD MEMORIES FOR YOU

**drown.**

_007_

Stiles Stilinski was a person of interest for anyone with the ability to sought out destruction.

Some followed the path he unknowingly paved since the January of his sophomore year.

Others found interest in him after his expedition as the Nogitsune, though they weren't exactly aware of the demon inside him.

HYDRA has been interested in him since the beginning. Spies sent in as everyday people to track his movements and growth. Adrian Harris was there to test his limits, to find out how far he could go before he got angry.

Kate Argent was a basket case, but she was a good agent. Even after she went rogue, she was still able to uncover secrets Stilinski held.

Brunski was one of their higher ups, placed in Eichen House as a way to keep Stiles from going soft. He helped the Nogitsune grow in the teenager when he drugged him, and he helped HYDRA when he stole the footage from the cameras in the basement.

Oliver was a surprise variable, yet it was a helpful one. His operation on Stiles jump started the electrokinesis that was hidden in the teenager's veins, remnants from both the Void as well as HYDRA’s influence in his earlier years.

S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't the only one who believed him to be dangerous, and they most certainly weren't the only ones to want to get him off the streets.

But they were the only ones who didn't want to use him for their own personal gain.

HYDRA followed the hypothetical foot prints that Stiles left as he trekked from California to New York. They kept track of every power outage, every dead body he left behind in Beacon Hills.

Stiles Stilinski could be the perfect soldier, the perfect key to bringing down Captain America and his band of misfits.

The moment S.H.I.E.L.D got their hands on Stiles, and he seemingly vanished from their scanners, HYDRA knew it was their time to step in.

They needed a new asset, and this one was perfect. Mieczysław Stilinski would replace the Winter Soldier.

•

The sound of Stiles' breathing was equivalent to the sound of sandpaper against wood. His chest was heaving with every inhale, but he couldn't stop running.

The duffel bag bounced against his hip, the weight of his bat constantly slamming against the protruded hip bone. It didn't matter how much his chest hurt or how bad he was coughing, if Stiles stopped running, who knows what could happen.

Fortunately, the rain didn't start back up, so Stiles' stolen attire was still nice and dry- no running from nazis in soaking wet clothing.

It's been five minutes since he had heard the shouts from the HYDRA members from behind him, and he wasn't really sure if that was comforting or not.

He's heard things about HYDRA even before their files were released by Captain America, and the more he learned, the more he feared the organization.

If they caught him, who knows what hell he would be put through. Stiles was starting to regret his escape from S.H.I.E.L.D.

The bottom of his shoes crunched against frozen patches of dirt and dead leaves as he attempted to bypass the slippery areas.

He lost track of where he was awhile ago, considering the fact that he was just running. Hell, he could be running straight back to the headquarters he escaped from.

His mind was running faster than his feet, his paranoia cutting into him like a knife. Stiles desperately wanted to take a break from his constant sprint, but his nerves told him that even if he paused for a few seconds to take his bat out, he'd be caught.

Part of him thought he deserved to be caught, that he deserved to be put through unbearable torture for the things he did, but the other part of him? It told him to keep going, to live.

Honestly, he had no idea why the other half of his conscience wanted to live. There was definitely nothing to live for, but it was enough to keep him from falling to the ground in a heap of exhaustion.

With a quick glance behind him, Stiles was struck with the terrifying realization that there was now a black van speeding down the road towards him. The only reason the shouts were dispersed was because the threat was only growing.

With a nervous gulp, Stiles instantaneously swerved into the path of trees that trailed the side of the road he was running on. Small gasps of shock left his mouth as the icy branches of the leafless trees cut against his face and tried to tear open the fabric on the sleeves of his hoodie.

The adrenaline that was fueling his run only grew as he heard the engine of the black van rev from somewhere around him, making him even more uncomfortable with the fact that now he had no idea where they were.

Maybe running into the trees wasn't that good of an idea.

Stiles swerved, cutting into new lines of trees and paths full of bushes- anything to get away from his followers. The length of his steps grew shorter as he found himself moving downhill.

Now he was forced to actually watch where he was going, doing anything and everything to not trip over a protruding rock that could potentially send him rolling down.

With another speedy step, Stiles yelped as he was suddenly yanked backwards. His first thought was that they had caught him, but when he wasn't pulled back any further, he turned his head to investigate.

The strap of the duffel bag that wasn't connected to his shoulder was caught on a tree branch. Normally, that wouldn't have been that big of an issue, but instead of the strap just being caught on top of the branch, it was impaled by the sharpness of the wood.

"Of course." He sneered under his breath as he yanked the cloth strap from the branch, stumbling backwards slightly before he spun back around to keep running.

Apparently his balance wasn't exactly one hundred percent, because one moment, Stiles was running, and the next thing he knew, he was fumbling over his own feet only to be sent tumbling down, rolling down the hill.

In any other circumstances, Stiles would deny his high pitched yelps as he rolled downhill, but right now, he was practically screaming.

Branches and rocks cut at him, and he couldn't even attempt to stop himself because he was using his arms to protect his face. In the mask of his panic to bring his arms towards his face, he lost the duffel, the black bag abandoned in the mix of his fall.

Stiles' eyes were squeezed shut, his head throbbing from the way the world was forcibly spinning around him. He felt helpless- there was nothing for him to grab onto or any way he could stop on his own.

A pained cry left his mouth as a sharp rock jabbed into his side as he rolled over it, successfully carving deep into his skin. The agony he felt was almost akin to the pain he felt when Oliver attacked him.

Stiles opened his eyes slightly, in hopes that by some miracle, he would come across something- anything- that he could use to stop his escapade.

Unfortunately, right as he opened his eyes, he found himself barreling right at a thick tree stump- and he was too late. There was no time to adjust his arms to cover his forehead because it was only a split second before his skull came into contact with the stump, and the world went dark.

**S.H.I.E.L.D- SPOKES' CHILDREN'S COMMUNITY CENTER**

In a way, hiding out in a community center was a smart move.

It seemed so obvious, yet so discreet. S.H.I.E.L.D wouldn't have even thought to look there if it wasn't for the surveillance footage they received from the parking lot across the street.

And while the grainy camera footage didn't exactly reveal Stiles Stilinski as the person who supposedly leapt off the roof, it was enough to get the team down on an investigation.

At first look, the front door seemed unbothered, urging both Clint and Natasha to go around back. A smart move made by to spies, especially considering the beaten in door, and- with further inspection- blood stain on door frame.

Originally, they were led to believe that Stiles was the cause of the sloghtplintered door, but if that was the case, there would be no explanation for the blood.

Natasha ruled out the original reasoning, the redhead standing outside the door as she tried to look at the evidence from a new angle. Slowly, she ran her fingers across the smooth, golden metal, suddenly noticing the way the door knob was scuffed around the edges and on the top.

In a swift, skillful movement, Natasha was balancing on the doorknob on one foot, uncaring towards the fact that the door was halfway off its hinges. She gripped the sides of the door as she realized that slight grooves, a telltale sign that someone had done the same.

She looked up, her forehead almost at the top of door. Even if she wasn't quite tall enough to hit her head on it, it was obvious that someone else had.

Natasha jumped off the doorknob, stepping away from the door, scanning it with analytical eyes. Her eyebrows furrowed as she noticed how patches on the door seemed to be scuffed and dirty, and yes, while that might have been because of the way the door was splintered and halfway off the hinges, it still hinted to how Stiles might have gotten into the establishment.

"He went in through that window," She called out to Coulson, who was standing near her. "I'm pretty sure he stood on the door handle to pull himself through," She then gestured to the stain on the edge towards the top, "And I'm guessing it didn't work out very well."

Natasha pursed her lips as both Coulson and Clint got closer to her. "Then that means that Stiles wasn't the one who broke the door." Clint spoke what they were all thinking.

"Which means someone else broke in," The assassin nodded.

"But who would want to break into a children's center in the middle of the night?" Clint questioned.

"So that means someone else didn't just break in, they were after Stiles." Coulson concluded.

As if on cue, a junior agent poked her head out from around the corner, her eyes urgent, "Boss, you're gonna wanna see this." She stated.

The three S.H.I.E.L.D operatives quickly abandoned the back door, following the agent through the maze of hallways. "O'Connor found a black backpack dumped in a trash can in the locker room bathroom and it got identified as Stiles'." She explained.

"We believe that he also stole clothes from one of the lockers, considering that one of them is open, but that's not why I brought you over here." The agent turned around, her eyes widening with surprise as she noticed Natasha and Clint. While she did see them conversing with Coulson, she wasn't expecting the skilled assassins to follow her as well.

Keeping a serious composure, Junior Agent Lopez led them to the door that led to the flights of stairs. "You see this?" She pointed to the sizable hole in the wall. "The door was closed when we found it, but the hole is exactly where the doorknob is on the door, which means that the door was slammed open hard enough to make the dent and then close again. Whoever broke in was after Stiles, and it seemed pretty serious."

Phil nodded, looking back up to the agent, "Good work." He knew that Lopez was a detective before she came to work for S.H.I.E.L.D and it was obvious her skills were very helpful.

"Thank you," She nodded. "There's more, however." Lopez opened the door, leading them up the first flight of stairs and towards another door, this one open. "The same thing happened in here, but the door is stuck in the wall. I'm assuming whoever was after him was determined to catch up."

The four walked up the next flight of stairs where the door to the roof was. It was still dark outside, considering that it wasn't even four in the morning yet. Lopez led them to the edge of rooftop, where the camera showed Stiles disappear from.

"A few of the other agents think that he might've jumped to the next rooftop or even to the ground, but I don't think so." She stated, looking over the edge. "Even with only a two story drop, he'd break something, especially since there's only concrete down there. Instead of jumping, I think he slid down this." Lopez pointed towards the metal gutter that trailed down the side of the building.

"Now, the question is," She continued, "Who else is after him?"

"Did anything show up on the footage?" Coulson questioned.

"Nothing clear enough. Whoever's on the footage is way too blurry to be able to make them out." She answered.

"Well, thank you. That'll be all for now." He nodded at her, waiting until she walked off before turning back to Clint and Natasha.

"What kind of community center doesn't have security cameras?" The archer questioned.

"According to the owner, this center is for troubled kids. Apparently cameras make them uncomfortable." Agent Coulson answered.

"How consequential." Natasha mumbled. "Well, Stiles was definitely here, and he was running from someone-"

"And I have a few ideas on who he was running from," A new voice said from behind them, causing the three to turn.

Matching a face to the voice, Tony Stark stood in front of them with a StarkPad in his hands. "Actually, just one." He turned his tablet towards them.

The footage from the camera across the street was playing on the screen, except this time, it wasn't grainy. Only the work of Tony Stark.

They watched in curiosity as Stiles ran out onto the roof only the crossover to the edge. He spent a couple of seconds looking over the edge before he backed up, as if he was going to jump over the edge.

He was centimeters from jumping he seemingly noticed the gutter to the side of him. In a split second, he was climbed down the top so he could slide down. It wasn't long after that the door slammed open again.

Stiles disappeared from the image as several uniformed men ran out into the pavement. With the cleaned up image, it wasn't hard to miss the emblem on the arms of their uniforms.

"It's HYDRA." Natasha realized.

•

Teams were in every direction, all searching for the seventeen year old boy. There was no telling what HYDRA would do if they found him, even if they still weren't one hundred percent sure that Stiles wasn't one of them.

Of course, the Avengers were rounded up as a team, the group trudging across the dirty snow in hopes of finding foot prints.

It wasn't easy, however, considering the fact that winter in New York was always a little bit of a mystery in a way, because you never knew when it would snow again. It would be a miracle if snowflakes haven't covered his tracks, if there even was any.

The Avengers were currently located on the side of the road, all of them spread out in search of foot prints. Captain America was walking along the edge, his eyes trained on the ground for any indent ions in the snow.

His eyes widened slowly as footprints appeared, as if the culprit had suddenly went off road. "There's footprints over here!" He called out, walking into the snow, careful not to jar Stiles' tracks.

One by one, his teammates joined him in his trek along the path. Steve noted how the footprints were close together, a sure sign that Stiles was running.

They followed the tracks as they swerved quickly into the woods, making the trail tricky to follow but the team managed. It was messy, but every couple steps they'd find a lone footprint indented into the muddy snow.

All of the sudden, however, the footsteps were gone. Just gone. Right out of nowhere. There was no indication on where he went, or any other sets a tracks that might have told them if HYDRA got to him.

Steve's eyebrows furrowed as he looked downhill, a black lump near the bottom. He jogged down the hill, his feet moving quickly to keep accelerating so he wouldn't slip and fall. His teammates followed his lead until they reached the black object, only to find it to be an abandoned duffel bag.

Slowly, Steve unzipped the top, his confusion growing even more when he found that the bag was full of clothes. Realization dawned on him as he noticed the red hoodie in the mix of clothing, the same hoodie Stiles had been wearing in the interrogation room.

"He fell down the hill." Bruce stated. Despite his anger issue, the scientist joined their escapade in hopes of finding Stiles before HYDRA did.

"Maybe he's down there," Clint stated. "Kid might've knocked himself out."

"I don't think so," Their attention was directed towards Sam, the black male standing next to a tree stump.

The rest of their team made their way to him, all of them surprised to see the blood coating the wood. Sam pointed towards the footprints leading towards the tree and away from.

"I think they caught up to him."

**UNKNOWN LOCATION- SOMEWHERE IN NEW YORK**

When Stiles opened his eyes, for a split second, he thought he was dead.

His head ached and his side burned, and the bright light he was welcomed with wasn't helping, so yeah, he thought that he was dead.

Upon further analysis, and a little more consciousness, Stiles found himself sitting in uncomfortable seat, surrounded by men in black uniforms.

He furrowed his eyebrows for a second before his mind caught up, the memories of what happens coming back to him. He brought his hands up to his forehead, noting quickly how his hands we handcuffed together. Touching his fingers against his skin, he was disgusted at the fact that they were quickly covered in blood.

That explained the splintering headache.

Stiles looked around, trying desperately to figure out where he was. It didn't take long for him to spot the windows lining the wall in front of him, and judging by the way the sky seemed to be moving outside of them and how the clouds were leveled, he concluded that he was in some sort of aircraft.

His eyes trailed to the side, landing on one of the men who was staring at him. In an awkward movement, Stiles waved his handcuffed hand, "Uh, hi," He stated. "How's your day going?"

The man stayed silent, a cue Stiles usually took to keep talking, "Mine's going fantastic." He said sarcastically, "I was actually planning on going down to Central Park and seeing the big ole Christmas tree, so if you could take the-"

He was cut off but a slap to the face, his head whipping to the side as he was caught off guard. However, instead of yelping from the pain he felt, Stiles' nostrils flared in annoyance. "Nice talk." He sneered.

The guard raised his hand, obviously ready to land another blow on Stiles' vulnerable face, when another male stepped up. "Enough Victor," He stated, his German accent heavy.

Stiles looked at him, raising an eyebrow, "Yeah," He said offhandedly to the guard who assaulted him, "Enough Victor." He smirked.

"Ah," A hand grabbed the sides of his mouth, yanking his face to the side as he forced to be face to face with the other man. "You have quite a mouth on you, don't you, Mieczysław? Never know when to stop and respect your elders."

"I respect people who deserve to be respected." His words were garbled.

"I see," The man let go of his face, patting his cheek with more force than necessary. "Soon, you will show respect for anyone I say."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, "Who are you and what do you want from me?"

The man stared at him for a moment before backing up, crossing his arms. "You will soon find out my name." He stated. "As for what I want," He gave Stiles a devilish look. "You have special abilities, no?"

Stiles stayed silent, giving the elder man a hard stare.

"And you are smart, like Anthony Stark. You will help me infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D."

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, only for the supposed leader to nod towards 'Victor', the guard decking Stiles swiftly in the mouth.

Gagging on the metallic taste of blood, Stiles glared at the two HYDRA agents.

"Soon, you will do as I say. No more backtalk." Victor's boss grinned. "You will be the perfect asset."

Stiles pursed his lips together, ignoring the red liquid dripping down his chin. "Go to hell." He snarled, spitting blood into the male's face.

In a split second, Stiles' head was slammed against the wall behind him, a knife pressing into his cheek. His captor's blood splattered face inches away from his. "You will regret that." He sneered, swiping the blade down his cheek, successfully leaving a sizable cut.

Stiles' foot twitched at the pain, but he otherwise made no indication that he was bothered. There was no way he was going to give this bastard the joy of seeing his pain.

"And you'll regret that." He scoffed before taking a huge risk by slamming his head against his captor's. Stiles hissed as the gash on his forehead connected with the man's skin, but it was worth it.

He quickly stood up, grateful that they didn't chain his feet to the seat he was forced into. Stiles ducked under the arms of Victor, swerving to the left to escape the fist of one of the other guards.

The mystery man was holding his head, seemingly dazed from the headbut Stiles had delivered to him but the teenager felt no remorse.

Right now, he had two options- the first one was to fight his way off of whatever he was being held captive on, and the second one was to drain every ounce of power from the air craft.

And only one of those was something that Stiles might actually be able to do.

In a swift movement, Stiles fell to the ground, his hands tucked underneath his torso, the metal cool against his exposed skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing as someone landed a kick against his side.

Ignoring reality, Stiles focused on sucking the electricity from the air craft. He had no idea what they were currently flying over, but he prayed to God that it wasn't somewhere people lived.

A yelp escaped his mouth as another blow was delivered to his side, on the exact same spot where the rock had impaled him earlier.

Stiles knew the dangers of what he was doing, he knew that he could potentially be killing himself as he let the plane go down from lack of energy. But right now, he was ready to die if it meant taking these HYDRA members with him.

The blows to his body deteriorated as the air was suddenly filled with frantic shouts. Once again, Stiles felt a buzz run through his veins, one filled with energy and power.

He didn't get up.

His eyes stayed shut as he felt himself falling. He ignored the terrified shouts in Russian and German and the sounds of parachutes being buckled in.

But it was too late because it was only two seconds later that Stiles was sent into the air from the impact that aircraft made against a hard surface.

It didn't end there, however. Apparently, they didn't crash on the solid ground, no, the helicopter they were currently inhabiting smashed against the ice of a lake, the exterior of the copter breaking apart as it came into contact with the thick ice.

Stiles screamed as he was practically thrown out of the bottom of the helicopter and into the freezing water surrounding him- but it wasn't the temperature that him yelling, it was the way his foot was caught on a broken piece of the helicopter.

While the HYDRA members were stuck inside as the helicopter filled with water, Stiles was stuck under it.

With a bout of adrenaline, Stiles' eyes burst open as he leaned up, his hands frantically trying to pull his leg free.

His eyes started to burn as his lack of oxygen was starting to get to him, his heart thudding fast against his chest.

Stiles wanted so badly to open his mouth and let the water in, the pain in his head so unbearable that he wanted nothing more but for it to go away. 

As time ticked on, his hands slowly moved away from his caged leg as Stiles sunk deeper into the water, the only thing keeping him from going to the bottom was his impaled flesh.

And suddenly, his mouth was open and for the second time that day, the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you didn't read the drowning scene, it was Stiles


	8. chapter eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning!!!!!

**medical.**

_008_

"You _know when you're drowning, you don't actually inhale until right before you black out. It's called voluntary apnea. It's like no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won't open your mouth until you feel like your head's exploding. But then when you finally do let it in, that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore. It's - it's actually kind of peaceful."_

•

Ever since Stiles was diagnosed with ADHD- and later on, a panic disorder- he found that making lists was a way for him to feel some sort of calm, even if it was only for a little bit of time.

It comforted him, reminding him that despite the immense panic or the full on jitteriness he might be feeling, he's still grounded to reality.

And recently he came to the realization that there was only two topics that he could really focus on when it came to chalking things up into a list- what he missed about Beacon Hills and who he was.

As he gradually stopped thrashing in the frozen abyss that was the water he was trapped in, he opened his mouth and took his mind off of drowning and onto his beloved lists.

_My name is Miezcysław Stilinski- Stiles for short._

The world was dark now but his mind was bright. In ninth grade, he read an article about how scientists found that the brain still works for seven minutes after dying- he never thought he'd find out if it was true so early.

_I'm seventeen years old and I'm supposed to be a junior in high school._

Two months ago, if you would've asked Stiles if he would miss school, he'd laugh in your face.

_My dad is the Sheriff. I miss him more than anyone._

He always thought he'd go into law enforcement, maybe work as a detective. He was pretty good with research and putting pieces together, so it would be easy. He's always wanted to be like his dad, and it kills him everyday that he never got to say goodbye.

_My best friend is Scott McCall. I miss him._

The story of how they met was one that Stiles found embarrassing to tell because no matter how funny the memory is, there's nothing fun to remember about peeing on a sandcastle in pre-school.

_My best friend is a badass True Alpha._

And dammit Scott was good at being a True Alpha. Scratch that, he was good at being a leader.

_I've had a crush on Lydia Martin since third grade-_

Now, that was a good memory to look back on, because the first time he spotted Lydia Martin was something he could never forget. Third grade was a good year, the year before his life started falling apart.

_-and Lydia Martin didn't acknowledge my existence until sophomore year._

In a way, it wasn't entirely true, because after his mom died when he was eleven, Lydia gave him half of her lunch when his dad forgot to make him one for school.

_I like to play lacrosse even though I'm awful at it._

At first, Stiles had been hesitant when it came to signing up for sports in middle school, but when Scott used his goddamn puppy dog eyes on him, he reluctantly signed up for lacrosse.

_Most of my fr-_

The next bullet on Stiles list was cut off with the startling realization that he was slowly able to breathe, and suddenly, the only thing he could think of was _oh my god_ , this is the third time he's drowned and it hasn't even been a year, can't he just be _done_?

Stiles was becoming more aware, the darkness slipping away as he felt something thumping against his chest, barely missing the arc reactor that inhabited his torso.

He wanted nothing more but to escape into the realm of the unconscious, but as he felt his chest heave again, he was left with no other choice but to shoot up, his body twisting to the side as he fell into a coughing fit, every ounce of water he digested coming back up.

He gasped, clutching his chest, acutely aware of the hands touching his arms. Now that his eyes were open, Stiles found that he could not focus. He felt like he was still underwater- the voices around him were garbled and his vision was shot to hell. Why couldn't they just let him die?

A flinch rocked his body as he was moved- to where? He had no idea. For all he knew, he could still be in the grasps of HYDRA.

He desperately wanted to fight as something was placed over his mouth, but he was _exhausted_. He looked up, his vision still hazy, but he was barely able to make out a face above him- their mouth was moving, but Stiles heard nothing.

His eyelids fluttered, the world beginning to spin around him. His head lulled to the side, whatever was on his face moving with him. It was weird being this disoriented, something he hasn't really felt before, even with all the concussions he's dealt with in the past.

A faint snapping sounded in his ears, but he ignored it. Dark spots were beginning to replace his blurry vision, the darkness growing.

And right before the world disappeared around him, he could've sworn he saw his mom smiling at him.

•

_"I'm fine. Yeah, aside from the not sleeping, the jumpiness, the constant, overwhelming, crushing fear that something terrible's about to happen."_

•

_**"I'm here to save my best friend."** _

_**Stiles was standing in front of a chain link fence with Scott, Kira, Allison, and Isaac standing in front of him.** _

_**"I came to save mine."** _

_**Confusion sprouted in him when Scott looked at him with a worried glance. How was he here? Wasn't he just submerged under water a second ago?** _

_**"I just didn't feel like doing any homework." His eyes darted towards Isaac, unsure if this was real or not. Only Isaac 'i-wear-scarves-in-the-summer' Lahey would make that kind of comment.** _

_**Stiles followed them through the opening of the fence, only for them to be stopped by Kira's mother- "Kira, go home. Take your friends with you."** _

_**Honestly, he had no idea what the hell was going on. He had gathered that they were saving Lydia, but from what? And why was Noshiko Yukimura here?** _

_**"I can't." Kira denied. "When I looked at the game, I realized who was playing. You."** _

_**Stiles found himself abandoning the others as he followed Scott into an old building, "She's here," The sound of his best friend's voice was so foreign to Stiles at the moment. "This way."** _

_**He followed him down a narrow hall, stumbling wildly in the footsteps of the True Alpha. His feet did not seem to be inheriting the signals his brain was sending them.** _

_**Stiles felt exhausted, but for some reason, he felt something burning inside his chest, something pushing him to follow Scott. He needed to find Lydia, the only question was:** _

_**Who took her?** _

_**"Lydia!" Stiles shouted, his voice hoarse. His heart burst as the sight of the strawberry blonde came into view.** _

_**He missed her so much.** _

_**"Are you alright?" Both he and Scott checkered her over, only for Lydia to push them away.** _

_**"No, no, no! Why are you here?" Her voice was hysterical.** _

_**"Lydia, we're here for you." It took him a second to realize the words were coming out of his mouth. It felt so scripted, he had no idea why he was saying it.** _

_**"You aren't supposed to be here! Didn't you get my message?"** _

_**What message?"** _

_**"Lydia, what's happening?" Scott asked worriedly.** _

_**"Who's here?" She panicked. "Who came with you? Who else is here?"** _

_**Scott's eyebrows furrowed, "Isaac, Kira, and Alli-"** _

_**Lydia paled, shaking her head wildly. "No, Scott, no. We need to go. Now."** _

_**And once again, they were running. Stiles was struggling to keep up, his energy levels diminishing faster and faster.** _

_**It seemed as if Scott was having the opposite issue, as the True Alpha seemed to be running faster by the second.** _

_**Never one to back down, Stiles pushed through the pain. He still no idea where he was or what the hell was happening, but the look on Lydia's face was strong enough to tell him that something awful was going to happen.** _

_**However, it was only a matter of time before it felt like Stiles' heart was going to jump out of his chest. The teen stumbled forward, practically running into the wall that was to the side of him. He gasped as he held his chest, his stride coming to a stop.** _

_**Lydia looked behind her, the girl pausing right when she noticed Stiles' staggered movements. "Scott!" She turned back, calling for the alpha for help, but it was too late.** _

_**He was gone.** _

_**"Lydia," Stiles whimpered. "I can't...I can't." He stumbled forward, Lydia practically diving towards so he wouldn't slam his face into the ground.** _

_**"Stiles, it's okay, come on. We can make it." But even she knew it wasn't true, as she lowered both of them to the ground.** _

_**Stiles' head fell back onto the concrete wall, his eyes heavily lidded. God, he felt awful.** _

_**The world was spinning around him as Lydia's smooth, bony fingers held his cheeks, lightly tapping his skin in attempts to bring him back.** _

_**Suddenly, it felt like the world had stopped as Lydia's hands fell from his face. Stiles was barely conscious, his body and his mind too exhausted to even keep up with whatever was going on at the moment.** _

_**But before he could drop off into the darkness, Lydia's cry of pure anguish and pain filled his ears,** _

_**"** Allison! **"**_

Stiles gasped, his eyes snapping open. His chest heaved upwards as a cry of pain left his lips. He was surprised to find an oxygen mask covering this mouth and his nose but he really couldn't bring himself to be able to focus on it.

Lydia's scream was still ringing in his ears and it didn't help that the pain in his body was mixing with the throbbing headache he had. At the moment, Stiles didn't see any other choice but to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to will the feeling away.

His jaw clenched, somewhat loosening the oxygen mask , causing it to slightly slide down his nose. He couldn't find the will to care enough to adjust it, all due to the face that he was currently trying to swallow his oncoming panic, but really? Who was he kidding? Waking up in a hospital bed in some unknown location was unsettling on its own, it didn't help that he felt so unbelievably disoriented.

After what seemed like forever, Stiles opened his eyes, blinking slowly up at the white ceiling. He made a move to brush a hand through his hair, only to hiss in discomfort when something pulled at his wrist.

At first, he thought that he was handcuffed to the sides of the bed, but upon further inspection, he was met with an IV inserted in the wrist of his left arm.

His eyebrows furrowed, glancing over the metal needle in confusion. How the hell did they manage to stick that in him without getting electrocuted?

It was a good explanation as to why he was feeling so...drugged. Whatever was in the IV bag was being pumped into him, and it was playing a big hand in his inability to form a coherent thought about where the hell he was.

With an indignant huff, Stiles ripped the oxygen mask off of his face, wincing as the movements flared up pain in his body. His fingers went towards the IV, fully prepared to yank it out, when he found himself pausing- was yanking a needle out of his skin really a good idea?

He had no idea how long he was practically glaring at the IV, mentally debating whether or it he should pull it out, but the next thing he knew, he was being startled by a new voice. His eyes snapped towards the perpetrator, pursing his lips when found himself staring at Bruce Banner.

"You were heavily sedated when they inserted the IV, so nothing happened." Stiles stayed silent, unsure of how to reply. And even if he did have something to say, he wasn't sure he'd even be able to get it out, not with the way his throat was burning.

Dr Banner drew closer to him, causing Stiles to scramble to sit up quickly. With a muddled mind, Stiles watched intently as Banner picked up the discarded oxygen mask.

"You know, you really shouldn't have taken this off." He stated.

Stiles snorted, "Yeah?" His voice was raspy and hoarse, causing him to cough slightly. It shouldn't hurt to speak. "And who're you to tell me what to do?"

He was fully aware that potentially angering the scientist-who-could-turn-into-the-notsojolly-green-giant wasn't a very good idea, but Stiles was known to be reckless.

And stupid.

"My name is Bruc-"

"I'm aware of who you are," Stiles wheezed, using all his will power to keep from coughing. "I'm not a big fan of people telling me what to do."

In a way, Stiles was caught off guard when Bruce chuckled, setting the oxygen mask on the side table beside the hospital bed the teen was currently residing on.

"You're not HYDRA are you?" He questioned bluntly.

Stiles watched him for a moment, looking for any signs that would show the man was joking before snorting indignantly, "Are you for real?" He questioned, his throat tickling as his voice rose.

"If I was apart of HYDRA, would I taken down their helicopter?" _And killed everyone in it. So much for the whole 'not killing people' gig._ "Jesus Christ, I thought you were supposed to be smart!" He squawked, his pitch rising.

Dr Banner opened his mouth to reply, but Stiles- always the one to rant under stress- continued to speak. "You guys really thought I was working with a bunch of...of... _terrorists_ , didn't you?" He heaved in a huge breath of air, "I may be a pretty shitty person, but that's too far, man. Who the hell do you think I am? I-"

Stiles cut himself off, falling into a coughing fit that did nothing to help the pain in his chest. If anything, it only made the pain worse.

Bruce made a move towards him, but quickly stopped when Stiles glared at him, still hacking into his elbow.

"Take it easy, kiddo," The scientist held his hands up in surrender. "Your chest is pretty beat up, no need to aggravate it." After what seemed like forever, Stiles was no longer coughing. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, his fists clenched tightly in attempt to stop them.

"You almost died you know."

"Yeah," Stiles laughed bitterly, still a little out of breath. "Drowning can do that to a person."

He ignored the way his heart skipped a beat when his mind automatically recalled the _last_ time he drowned.

Banner, on the other hand, was watching the hospitalized teenager, studying him with calculated eyes. "You're not bothered?" It was a testing question, in order to give some insight on what exactly was going through this kid's head.

After not being able to interrogate him- orders from Fury in attempt to keep him from hulking out as a result from Stiles' angering attitude- he was curious to understand and analyze the supposed criminal.

Stiles gave him a sharp look, "Should I be?" His tone was icy, but with the combination of his way-too-pale skin and the number hypothermia did on him physically, it wasn't threatening.

"You've sustained a fair amount of injuries, I'm actually quite surprised you're awake." He ignored the teen's question, opting to pick up the clipboard sitting at the edge of his hospital bed, flipping through the pages. To his surprise, Stiles was watching, a somewhat curious gleam in his eyes and an expectant look on his face.

Taking it as a cue to go on, Banner went on, "Severe concussion, stitches along the forehead and cheek. Major bruising along the chest. Stitches along the abdomen. Broken ankle-" He paused, watching as Stiles eyes widened, the teen obviously surprised by the news of a broken bone. "Various cuts and bruises along the body. And on top of that, you had a pretty bad case of hypothermia as well as acute bronchitis."

"Fan _fucking_ tastic." Stiles sneered under his breath, using his free arm to cover his face.

How the hell was he supposed to escape when he had a cast wrapped around his leg?

It was silent for a couple minutes, and with his trembling arm covering his face, Stiles' could've sworn that Bruce had left the room. It was a good explanation to use as to why he flinched when the scientist began to speak again.

"I have a couple of questions for you," Bruce almost added the words 'if you don't mind' but thought better of it.

Stiles uncovered his face, fixing the scientist with a fierce glare. He was getting sick and tired of all the questions, not to mention that he was _actually_ sick and tired. "Ask all you want, I'm not answering anything."

"Why are you so apprehensive? They're simple questions." It wasn't _technically_ a lie- they were simple, but they were also intrusive.

He could've laughed at the incredulous look he received from the seventeen year old, "You're kidding right?" Stiles questioned, clearing his throat before he continued. "There's literally no reason why I should answer your dumb questions." He rolled his eyes, thoroughly done with everything at this point.

"The sooner you answer, the sooner this will all be over." He suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"That's definitely a lie."

"How can you be so sure?"

Stiles face palmed, his right hand speaking against his nose- which was actually a really bad idea because it's shot pain throughout his face, but he ignored it. Sort of. "Because everything about _this_ ," He flailed his free arm, giving emphasis on the word. "-is a lie! Are you expecting me to believe that if I answer your stupid questions, I'll be free to leave or whatever?" He sneered, his frustration expelling from him. "I'm not an idiot, I know HYDRA infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D, who says it's not gonna happen again? And I sure as hell know I don't want to be in the middle of it!"

Bruce watched as the kid spoke, listening to his excessive - yet logical- rambling. He did have a point, and his worries were supported. But S.H.I.E.L.D was a new agency now, every single one of their staff members were thoroughly looked into, there was no way HYDRA was going to make a reappearance.

"You do have a reason to be nervous, but I can assure you that S.H.I.E.L.D is protected." He tried to reason.

Key word; tried.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before." Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm really not in the mood to talk anymore, so if you could leave, that'd be fantastic." He did his best to turn on his side- away from Bruce- biting his tongue to hold back a hiss of pain as his movements jostled every injury his body held.

He stared at the wall across from him, waiting for the scientist to leave so he could figure out a new game plan so he could escape from S.H.I.E.L.D once again.

Bruce sighed, contemplating whether or not he should push for answers, but he knew all too well how it felt when he was forced to do something. He casted one last glance at the teenager before reluctantly leaving the room.

The team needed to come up with a game plan fast, or they were never going to get answers.

•

 _"_ _But it's not just a feeling, though. It's - it's like it's a panic attack. You know, like I can't even breathe."_

_•_

For what seemed like the millionth time, the Avengers were gathered around a large table, impatiently waiting for someone to come up with a big idea to get answers out of an incredibly stubborn teenager who had a knack for pushing their buttons.

He was incredibly infuriating to even some of the most patient of people.

"I've never met someone- other than Tony- who could sidestep so many questions." Rhodey said, eyeing his best friend. He hasn't exactly spoken to Stiles, but he did watch the interrogations.

"Well, we know for a fact that he has answers," Natasha said, sitting back in her chair with her feet up on the table. "I'm sure there are way we can get the information out o-"

"We're not gonna torture answers out of him," Steve stated. "He's just a kid."

"Yeah," Clint snorted. "A kid who's a murderer."

"We don't know if he actually is a murderer-" Bruce said defensively, still not entirely sure if anything S.H.I.E.L.D dug up on the teen was one hundred percent true.

"Okay, fine." Tony interrupted, "Let's say, in some crazy turn of events, that this kid didn't kill anyone. Maybe he was framed, I don't know, but he still knows something about them. If he didn't, he would answer the questions."

It was something to think about. Stiles did have a point when he brought up how people could recreate facial features in order to frame someone, _but_ Stiles was so incredibly defensive and very allusive when questioned- and don't even get them started on what happened during Natasha's turn at the interrogation.

"You know what I don't understand," Sam spoke up. "Is the body they found in Beacon Hills." He looked down at the folder in front him, his eyes trained on the description and autopsy. "From blood type to dental records, it was identified as Stiles Stilinski."

"S.H.I.E.L.D has no problem with faking someone's death and planting bodies." Clint shrugged.

"Yeah, but no one at S.H.I.E.L.D is a teenager." Bruce stated.

"So, are you saying this kid is some kind of criminal genius?" Rhodey raised an eyebrow.

They sat in silence- which was odd- all pondering the loopholes and open points this case had. Their earlier conclusions were slowly melting away as they attempted to put the pieces together.

"Perhaps I should attempt to coax answers out of him." Thor suggested.

All heads turned towards him, the idea of Thor talking to Stiles running through their minds until they were all thinking the same thing.

Maybe Thor could scare the answers out of him.

•

_"But what if it just gets worse? What if it's agony now...and hell later on?"_

_•_

Stiles has never been a patient kid.

Not when he got diagnosed with ADHD or when his dad told him his mom was sick.

Not when he was a bench warmer for the lacrosse team or when he took the PSATs his freshmen year just to be near Lydia Martin.

And there was no way in hell he was going to be patient when he was sitting in a hospital bed against his will.

Broken ankle be damned, he was finding a way out of this place.

There were no windows in the hospital room he was confined to, and he was ninety-five percent sure that there were guards outside the door, so that took away the options of climbing out the window or making a run for it.

He thought about climbing through the air vents, but in every scenario he thought of, the cast on his ankle got away.

Freaking HYDRA and sunken helicopters.

After Bruce left, Stiles' was visited two other times by a nurse. He never caught her name, but all she did was check his vitals and bring him water and food.

The tray from the cafeteria was left untouched, because after coming into contact with the food he received in the interrogation room, there was no way in hell he was going to eat this food.

He'd rather starve.

Stiles closed his eyes, an annoyed sigh leaving his mouth. He needed to get out here, preferably before he died of boredom.

His moment of sorta-peace was quickly interrupted when the nurse made a reappearance. She walked into the room, causing Stiles' eyes to snap open. He sat up quickly, watching as she gave a disapproving look towards the uneaten food, but instead of grabbing it and leaving- like he assumed she would do- she crossed over towards him.

The nurse opened the basket on the heart monitor, pulling out different medical instruments and baggies. He watched in confusion only to flinch when she made a move towards him.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, a thick southern accent on her tongue.

 _Awful_. "Fine." He said, his voice still hoarse. Unfortunately, his throat still hurt like a mother, but there was no way he was going to tell anyone that.

She offered him a smile as she opened the baggies, revealing IV needles. "I need to change out your IV. We're gonna put you on a different pain killer, one that's less strong." She explained. "It'll get rid of some grogginess I'm sure you've been feeling."

"But what about the whole...?" He trailed off slowly, hoping she would pick up what he was saying.

"Mr Stark created these needles so they won't be effected by your abilities." She explained, pulling on plastic gloves.

He nodded slowly, though he could feel his heart race pick up. It was one thing when they put the needle in his arm when he was unconscious, but it was another thing to have her put one in while he was awake.

Stiles fought back a flinch as the nurse gently pulled the IV out of his wrist, discarding in another baggies before hooking up a needle to a different drip.

He held his breath as she cleaned the skin where the needle would go, pulling another IV needle out of one of the baggies.

As if it were in slow motion, the nurse held the needle above his wrist, preparing to insert it. "This'll only hurt a little bit, try not to move." She instructed.

Stiles' eyes widened as he jolted back, his arm moving with him. "Wh-What?" He gasped.

This wasn't the first time he's heard someone say that.

"Mister Stilinski," She said, her voice taking on a scolding tone as he reached for his arm again. "If you move, it'll hurt more." She stated.

He shook his head, clutching his left arm to his chest. "D-Don't touch me." He stammered.

_"This'll only hurt a little bit," Oliver giggled menacingly. "Try not to move."_

_He held the trephination drill to the side of Stiles' head, his finger on the trigger as Stiles pulled against his restraints._

"Mister Stilinski, I need to insert the IV." The nurse said calmly, but Stiles was barely paying attention. It wasn't until she reached for him again that he shrunk back even more, scrambling backwards to get away from her.

"St-stay away from me!" He shouted at the nurse.

Except, in his mind, he wasn't exactly shouting at the nurse, he was screaming at Oliver.

_"Get away from me!" He screamed desperately, craning his head away from the maniac's drill._

_His body was arched away from him, his whole body shaking with uncontrollable tremors. He didn't want to die this way._

The nurse watched him with worried eyes, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to let anyone do that to him again.

_Oliver grabbed him by the mouth, pushing his head straight against the back of the chair. A sickening grin crossed across his face as the nogitsune blossomed within him._

_"This is going to be so much fun." He giggled again, holding the drill against the side of Stiles head. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip, but morning could hold back to pain filled scream that left his mouth as Oliver pushed the drill in-_

"Get away from me!" He screamed, twisting so far backwards the he somersaulted off of the hospital bed. A cry of pain left his mouth as he landed on the ground, but quickly picked himself up as the nurse frantically came towards him.

He shook his head as his breaths started to became quicker and more labored. The heart monitor was going crazy, making Stiles' head pound even more. He shakily yanked the finger clip on his hand and the strap wrapped around his arm off.

A loud scream left his mouth as the nurse grabbed his arm, his whole body ramming into the wall beside his bed as he frantically tried to shake her hands off of him.

"D-don't to-ouch me!" His voice was barely above a whisper, the screaming taking a toll on his already hurting throat.

Stiles shoved the nurse away from him as he stumbled into the bathroom connected to the room, slamming and locking the door behind him.

After that, however, he found that he couldn't bear to take another step. Every movement he put his ankle through was causing agonizing pain throughout his whole body, and that did nothing for his oncoming panic attack.

It was a good thing the lights in the bathroom were automatic, because if not, he would've been panicking in the dark.

"This is j-just a dream. Just a dr-dream." He mumbled to himself as he slid down the wall vertical to the door, practically wheezing as he gasped for breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring his instincts that told him to count his fingers because every time he opened his eyes, all he could see was Oliver's psychopathic smile and Malia's lifeless body.

His hands were clamped over his ears, trying to block out the sound of the drill or his own manic screams that were replaying in his.

His panic was growing, his chest tightening with each labored breath until he found that he could no longer bring in any air.

_This is just a dream._

He kept trying to convince himself, but with every thought came the sound of Oliver's awful laugh.

_This isn't real._

This is probably the worst panic attack he's ever had, and that's saying a lot.

_Wake up, Stiles._

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes tighter and pushing harder against his ears. He could faintly recognize movement around him but he only shrunk into himself more.

_Wake. Up. Stiles._

He flinched violently as someone grabbed at his arms, the hands moving away just as quickly as they came.

_Wake up!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment about what you think:)


	9. chapter nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'i'm laughing in the face of casualties and sorrow, for the first time i'm thinking 'bout tomorrow'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings-
> 
> detailed description of a panic attack

**panic attack.**

_009_

Commotion is what turned their attention away from brainstorming to the monitor hanging in the corner of the room.

The screen displayed the footage from the cameras recording in the hospital room that held Stiles, enabling the Avengers to keep an eye on the teenager to make sure he didn't try to make a run for it...again.

They all simultaneously looked up at the monitor, watching as Stiles reeled away from nurse, a choked, "Don't touch me!" leaving his mouth.

The picture on the screen was clear as the nurse made a move towards the teenager, only for him to yell again, "Stay away from me!"

"Should we ste-" Fury raised a hand, interrupting Rhodey's question. "Let me see how this plays out."

And it was obvious that Captain America and the rest of his team wanted to argue, but before anyone could speak up, Stiles' was shouting again.

"G-Get away from me!" Steve stood up quickly as he watched Stiles fall backwards off of the bed, a strangled cry sounding through the TV's speakers as he landed with a thud.

"I'm going in," He said, his voice holding no room for argument.

Or so he thought.

"Captain Rogers," Fury stated, "Stand down until I give the go-ahead. I want to see if he uses his abilities." In the background, Stiles' was shouting again, his voice growing increasingly hysterical.

"And if he doesn't?" Natasha questioned, the assassin raising an eyebrow.

Director Fury opened his mouth to reply, only for an agonizing scream to be heard- both through the speakers and throughout the building.

And at the same time, the electricity throughout the building surged- and Steve took that as enough of a go-ahead to take off towards the hospital room.

He sprinted down the hall, skidding towards the door on his heels in an effort not to bypass the door to his room by the force of momentum. Steve practically barged in, ignoring the presence of the distraught nurse in order to cross the room towards the bathroom door.

He fought back the urge to curse when he twisted the doorknob, only to find it stiff- a telltale sign that it was locked. He pressed his ear to the wood, listening for any sound that would give way that Stiles was actually in there and that what they just witnessed over the monitor wasn't a facade to escape again.

"JARVIS, run a heat scan, make sure the kid is in there and that he's away from the door," Steve turned quickly, coming face to almost face with Tony, whom was wearing his holographic headset, a quiet ' _On it, Sir_ ' sounding in the background. "It's clear. Break the door down." The genius stated after a brief moment.

Steve nodded, grasping the doorknob once again before ramming the side of his body into the door. The hinges crackled, not quite broken but almost there. The captain reeled back again before slamming into the door once more, successfully causing it to open.

His eyes widened as he met with the sight of Stiles slumped against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest. His breaths were quick and ragged, as if every inhale was a chore and he was mumbling quietly in a panicked tone, his whole body trembling. He had his hands clamped against his ears and his eyes were closed tight, as if he were trying to block out the world around him.

Steve knelt down in front of him, "You with me?" He questioned, though it fell on deaf ears. "Stiles?" He reached out, grabbing Stiles' arm only to let go when the kid jerked away.

"Don't touch him," Stark ordered. "JARVIS, scan his vitals." As his A.I assessed the teen, Tony assessed the situation. He had a feeling that he knew what was going on, especially since he's gone through a few himself, but he's never really dealt with someone else having a panic attack.

" _Sir, Mister Stilinski is currently undergoing a very severe panic attack. His heart rate is currently one hundred and ten beats per minute and his breathing is extremely unstable. I advise for you to quickly disperse the panic attack before Mister Stilinski loses consciousness from lack of oxygen_."

"He's having a panic attack," He explained half-heartedly to Steve, drawing in on both him and Stiles.

The closer he got to the teen, the clearer his mumbles became. "Th-this i-is j-just a dre-eam." He gasped out, his voice quiet and broken. "T-This isn't re-real."

" _Sir, I would suggest talking him out of the panic attack. Mister Stilinski seems to be in a state of fear and is interpreting it as a dream_." JARVIS' voice sounded in his ear, provoking Tony into further action.

Proceeding with caution, he knelt down in front of Stiles- practically shoving Cap out of the way- grabbing both of the teenager's arms. The kid flinched again, but otherwise made no move to pull away from him.

Slowly, he pried Stiles' hands away from his ears, trying to bring his attention away from whatever his mind was dragging him into.

"C'mon kid, you gotta breathe," He said sternly, though there was no heat in his voice, even if he was talking to a supposed murderer. "You're right, whatever's happening isn't real-" He drew from personal experience, trying to think of how he would talk himself out of another panic attack. "-but this isn't a dream."

Seemingly catching on to what Tony was doing, Steve started speaking as well, "You're sitting on the floor in a hospital bathroom, not wherever you might think you are. _This_ is real, it's not a dream. You need to breathe."

Tony held onto Stiles' arms as he attempted to pull them up against his ears again- and truth be told, he felt kinda bad about it. "L-Let me g-go!" Stiles stammered.

"Listen to me, _you need to breathe_." He repeated, articulating each word.

"I-I cah-can't!" He gasped, shaking his head. His eyes were still squeezed shut and he was shaking uncontrollably. "I ca-can't brea-athe."

"You can and you will." Tony stated. "What do you do when you have a panic attack?" When he didn't receive an answer- even just a one worded one- he pressed on. "C'mon Stiles, what do you do?"

Stiles' mind went back to when he had a panic attack in the middle of history- when the words seemed to melt from the pages of the textbook- and Scott pulled him into the boys bathroom in order to talk him out of it.

"What do you do?" It was weird, being talked out of a panic attack by someone accusing you of murder.

"How do you know this is real? How do you know this is a dream?" There were two voices, both urging him to breathe, trying to convince him that he wasn't in the middle of getting his head drilled in. He just couldn't figure out who exactly was doing it.

His mind was so muddled with unwanted flashbacks and the lack of air, Stiles couldn't figure out who was talking to him, he just knew it was someone from S.H.I.E.L.D, and he was pretty sure they were all against him.

"Y-you c-can't read!" He stammered, gasping for oxygen but his lungs weren't cooperating.

"You can't read." Tony repeated. "This isn't a dream. If you open your eyes, you're gonna see that you can-"

"N-No, I cah-can't g-go ba-ack." Stiles shook his head, terrified that if he opened his eyes, he was going to see Oliver looming over him with that sick, sadistic grin that haunted Stiles' dreams.

The two Avengers shared a look, silently agreeing to discuss what exactly Stiles might be talking about.

"Wherever that is, _it isn't real_." Steve insisted, his voice taking on its 'leadership' tone.

"It isn't real, Stiles. Breathe." Tony continued on, urging the teen to breathe. " _Breathe_."

Stiles choked, inhaling deeply before exhaling, continued the cycle until the pressure on his chest gave way and the only issues he had with breathing was from the illnesses he procured.

Both Tony and Steve sighed in relief as they noticed the improvement in the kid's breathing, though he was still shaking.

To Stiles, it felt like forever before he could breathe, but even after his panic attack subsided, it still felt like a chore to inhale and exhale.

Not to mention the way his self hatred skyrocketed when he realized he had a panic attack in the middle of being held captive in a S.H.I.E.L.D facility, like seriously- who does that?

And the lovely little fact that two members of S.H.I.E.L.D ended up talking him out of said panic attack.

At the thought, Stiles' eyebrows furrowed before his eyes shot open as he was yanking himself away from the two people in front of him before he even got the chance to see who they were.

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers- or otherwise known as Iron Man and Captain America- were kneeled down two feet away from him, both looking at him as if he were a victim, not as the criminal they acted like he was.

"G-Get away from m-me." He seethed, hugging his knees close to his chest.

Steve's eyebrows raised, "I don't think that's the wisest idea, bud-"

"Do I-I really l-look like I c-care?" Stiles hated the way he stumbled across his words, but with the combination of his body shaking- both from the constant feeling that he was freezing and with the left over panic- and the fact that he still couldn't breathe very way, his voice was destined to sound like that.

Tony gave him a look mixed between amusement and an emotion Stiles' couldn't decipher, "Look, I get if you don't want to talk about your panic attack- trust me, I know how much those suck, but we're not just gonna leave you here."

Stiles rolled his eyes, "You kn-know I don't r-really c-care," He stated. "N-Not the first pah-panic a-attack I've h-had and i-it m-most c-certainly w-won't be th-the last. I-I cah-can handle m-myself." And it was true. He's had a number of panic attacks on his voyage from California to New York, and he's managed not to pass out each and every time.

"You shouldn't have to, you're just a kid." Steve pointed out, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

And if he was expecting for Stiles to just agree- like the statement totally cleared things up for him as if he had no idea he was still a minor- then he was in for a rude awakening, because the minute the statement left the super soldier's mouth, Stiles let out a bitter laugh.

"Really? _J-Just a kid_? Be-Because tha-at's totally h-how you've guys ha-have t-treated me, ya kn-know, after your lah-ovely little a-agent friends ki-kidnapped me o-off the street." He sneered sarcastically. "D-Don't give m-me that b-bullshit."

The two Avengers sighed, and for a split second, Stiles thought that maybe- just maybe- they would leave him alone, but of course, his hopes and dreams were crushed.

"We just want to h-"

" _Get out_." It took a hell of a lot of willpower to make the statement sound strong, especially when Stiles felt weak.

"Kid-"

" _L-Leave me a-alone_." He tried again, giving them both a death stare. Why couldn't they realize that he didn't want to talk to them? The last thing he needed was to have a heart to heart with Iron Man and Captain America about the cause of one of his panic attacks.

"Stiles-"

"Get ou-out!" He shouted, throwing his hands in the air and using a sneer to cover up a wince of pain.

The two shared a look before slowly leaving the room, the weight of Stiles' death stare on their backs until they were out of the adjacent bathroom and the hospital room.

The sound of Stiles' uneven breathing followed them out- and yeah, they both felt like it was a bad idea to leave an obviously panicked teenager alone, but they couldn't exactly treat him like he was innocent- because as far as they knew, he was a serial killer.

•

 _One. Two. Three. Four. Five_. Breathe. _Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten._

Fuck.

"This is real." Stiles whispered to himself, repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fists.

All ten of his fingers were there, so this wasn't a dream. And yeah, Steve and Tony had said that, but he's had plenty of instances where a dream didn't seem like a dream, and he'd wake up screaming- so he had to see for himself.

And somewhere inside him, he was hoping- _praying_ \- that it was a dream, because as much as he hated them at the moment, once- a long time ago- the Avengers were his heroes.

They were his heroes up until Scott got bit, and he realized that they only dealt with the big stuff. There was no reason to believe in heroes when they were only heroes when the world was close to ending.

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head fall back onto the wall behind him, wrapping his arms around his knees. What was he supposed to do now?

Stiles sat in the position for awhile, weighing his limited options and brainstorming new ones, but he honestly couldn't focus as well as he would normally be able to. The concussion had his head spinning, and the pain from his multiple injuries- especially from his _freaking_ ankle- was killing him.

With a small grunt, his pulled himself up, using the walls as support. A hiss of pain escaped his lips, drawing in a deep breath before he turned around, switching his hold to lean against the sink.

"Jesus," He mumbled under his breath, staring in disgust at his reflection. "I'm a fucking mess." And it was true.

His skin was pale- the same way it was during his time as the Nogitsune- and the bags underneath his eyes were more prominent. His cheekbones and his jawline were unhealthily defined- and he was pretty sure that his ribs and hip bones would be the same way.

The stitches across his temple and his cheek stuck out like a sore thumb, along with the black and blue bruising painting his skin. In his opinion, he looked pathetic.

Actually, in his opinion, he _was_ pathetic.

•

Something wasn't right with the situation, and Tony could just barely graze his finger on it.

Now, he's had his fair share of both panic and anxiety attacks and he has first hand understanding of PTSD- and he was willing to bet everything he had on the fact that Stiles' panic attack was fueled by incidents from his past.

The same incidents that were supposedly recorded on the pretty little files Coulson laid out for them, but- and this was just a _wild_ little idea- what if that wasn't the whole story?

Because- _come on_ \- this wouldn't be the first time that Fury has kept something from them, and it most certainly wouldn't be the first time where some stone was left unturned and their was information completely unknown to them.

And _damnit_ , there had to be something they were missing. Something.

Tony really didn't want to believe that this skinny, little seventeen year old was both a serial killer and a mass murderer- and his gut was telling him that _he wasn't_.

And when has his gut been wrong?

Fueled by a new wave of adrenaline and determination, Tony turned quickly towards his workshop of the Avengers compound (which was also acting as S.H.I.E.L.D HQ)

He was completely prepared to sit in front of a computer for the next six hours, just so he could find the piece of evidence that he knew was missing.  
  
Plopping down in his black computer chair (custom made from Italy if he might add), Tony set out to work, fingers tapping away at what seemed like superhuman speed on the keyboard in front of him.

Hardcore, mind-numbing research was one of Tony's many talents, and quite possibly one of his favorites. There was just something so...refreshing about learning more.

He scanned files, news reports, and school news letters that held any mention of the word 'Stilinski' looking for something- _anything_ \- that could be of some use.

But all he could find was the same missing person fliers and play-by-plays of lacrosse games.

With a groan of frustration, Tony tapped his fingers along his chin as he tried to pull himself from the stumped position he was stuck in. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he used another one of his talents- his brain.

It was only seconds after that a key thought crossed his mind, sending him straight at the computer once more.

If it was even possible, Tony typed faster than he had before, going through files upon files of a hacked database, looking for certain security footage that could change the outlook on Stiles' case.

He was slightly alarmed to realize that many of the files had parenthesized commentary paired with the title, all some type of variation of 'Brunski's Collection' or 'Brunski's Footage'.

And it just so happened that the footage he was looking for was tagged with the same phrases, his eyes widening slightly as he opened the file.

**'Stilinski- Nov. 8th - 9th (Brunski's Footage)'**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow! tony is finally coming to senses and is realizing that maybe they didn't receive the full truth! what did you guys think? 
> 
> sorry for the late update! i've been really busy lately 
> 
> also, would anyone be up for making a trailer for this? if so comment!!


	10. chapter ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “there are moments that the words don’t reach, there is suffering to terrible to name”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m so sorry i haven’t updated!! i’ve been so busy with marching band and ap classes and i haven’t found the time to write!

**fear.**

_010_

“Come on Stiles,” Exhausted hazel eyes stared into the mirror, eyelids flickering as he willed himself to focus. “Get yourself together, come on.”

He took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the bathroom counter. It was futile attempt to keep his hands from shaking, the poor kid was finally recovering from his bout of stuttering sentences, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

After he got over his humiliation of being talked out of a panic attack by _freaking_ Captain America and Iron Man.

His hatred for the Avengers was both fueled and derailed by the incident and it only made Stiles’ head hurt worse.

His lone bare foot- the one not wrapped in a bulky cast- was stone cold against the freezing tiles of the bathroom floor, and his arms were littered with goosebumps from a chill that just wouldn’t seem to go away.

Maybe he could request a long sleeve shirt or a hood-

Wait...speaking of a hoodie- what happened to the one he was wearing before he fell into the lake? Or the stolen duffel bag that carried his precious red hoodie?

The last time he remember having it was when...was before he smashed his forehead against that tree stump, and then after that, it was gone.

Stiles frowned, feeling a wave of sadness wash over him. That hoodie was the only thing he had left of Beacon Hills...and now that was gone too.

God...how was pathetic was that? Here he was, locking himself in a bathroom and feeling sad because he lost a hoodie? When did he turn into such a baby?

A sigh left his mouth as he leaned against the wall, sliding down it in a bout of teenage angst. His life was so depressing lately, it felt like a scene right out of Degrassi.

Just with a little more gore...

He crossed his arms over his chest, becoming hyper aware of the hunk of probably rusted metal that resided within his chest. He really needed to do something about it, but there was literally nothing he’d be able to do while he was stuck within S.H.I.E.L.D’s or the Avengers’ grasp.

In a sense, S.H.I.E.L.D seemed to be doing pretty well, especially considering the fall of the agency was only a couple years ago. He knew that the government agency was back up and running even if the world didn’t, especially because he’d had his fun with hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D supposed ‘unbreakable’ database.

Ah, the good ol’ days.

Stiles desperately needed to make a new game plan to break out of here, but so many uncontrollable variables held him back every time a good idea popped into his head.

The worst one of all was the _fucking_ broken ankle that kept him from being able to move faster than a slow paced walk- it was a miracle that he was even able to stumble into the bathroom quickly during his panic attack.

He groaned- loudly- letting his head fall back against the wall only to hiss in pain as he aggravated the constant headache he gained from his concussion.

His mind trailed off to the dream he had when he was asleep, it felt too real. It was like he could feel Lydia’s pain when she screamed Allison’s name.

It felt so real, so real that even now, the scream of the banshee was still ringing somewhere in Stiles’ ears. What if that was what was meant to happen? What if Allison was meant to die if he didn’t ditch Eichen House and Beacon Hills?

•

Tony clicked on the folder, nauseated to find that Brunski had the audacity to organize Stiles’ file.

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked down the list, his disgust growing before he begrudgingly clicked on something.

“ _You’re lying! You’re a liar!_ ” His attention was immediately on the screen in front of him, a seemingly deranged teenager screaming in a courtyard.

The boy lunges towards a field who Tony recognized as Malia Tate, as several orderlies ran towards the two. “ _What the hell’s going on?_ ”

“ _You’re lying!_ ” After a moment of thought, Tony recognized the boy as Oliver Johnson.

“ _Get this nutjob off of me!_ ” Malia struggled under Oliver’s hold, her tone expressing anger.

“ _No_!” Oliver shouted as he struggled against the staff members attempting to pull him off of the girl. “ _She said they’re gonna still holes in your head! She said they’re gonna put holes in my head!_ ” He screeched, flailing wildly in their hold.

“ _Please, please don’t...please!_ ” Oliver’s yells we’re faintly heard as the orderlies dragged him away.

Malia turned around, Stiles coming into the screen, “ _You okay?_ ” He asked her. Tony noted that he looked slightly better than he did now.

She nodded before their hands brushed, both Stiles and Malia passing each other as they went separate directions.

The security footage flipped to several different cameras as it followed Stiles, who was marching the halls of Eichen House, seemingly on a mission.

He stopped at a door at the end of the hall, pulling a ring of keys from his pocket, stabbing random keys into the keyhole of the doorknob.

“ _Come on, come on_ ,” He mumbles, the keys jingling softly against the one another. Tony chuckled quietly as he realized that Stiles was a sneaky son of bitch now as well as before, and he couldn’t find himself thinking ‘respect to the kid’.

“ _I thought this guy had a key to everything_.” Stiles cursed softly, though his attempt to break into the room was foiled when Brunski appeared behind himself, two men standing with him.

“ _I do_.” He stated, causing Stiles to freeze in his movements. “ _But nobody has a key to that room_.”

He nodded towards Stiles, his goons automatically walking towards Stiles and restraining his arms before they followed Brunski back down the corridors, dragging a fidgeting teenager with them.

Tony’s eyes widened in alarm as the three nurses roughly handled Stiles, as it was obvious that their grips tightened more and more to the point where it would leave bruises on his arms.

“ _Welcome to the Quiet Room, little man._ ” Brunski sneered as he unlocked a thick door, revealing an empty white room.

The two men drug him in, though they didn’t let go of Stiles, instead they forced him to face Brunski, who held up a bottle of pills that he took from the teen. “ _Want to tell is where you got these_?”

Stiles flared his nostrils, giving the orderly a dirty look, “ _The vending machine.”_

Brunski raised his eyebrows before giving an ugly laugh, “ _I always love the sarcastic ones. Give him five of the haldol_.”

The smug look on Stiles face dissipated, being replaced with an expression of complete fear and pale skin. “ _Wait, whats that? Is that a sedative?_ ”

He began to thrash against the hold of his captors as a needle was prepared, “ _Hang on, hang on!_ ” He screamed. “ _Look, I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. I can’t go to sleep! Hey! Get off me man!_ ”

A shrill cry left his mouth as the needle was stabbed into the back of his thigh, the nurses lowering him to the ground as Stiles slowly shook his head back and forth, mumbling, “ _I can’t go to sleep, you don’t understand. I have to- I...I have to stay up. I gotta stay awake...I gotta stay awake._ ”

His eyes shut slowly and Brunski’s laugh could be heard from behind the view of the camera, and it made Tony feel sick.

No wonder Stiles freaked out about the needle.

He was about to close out of the screen, assuming that it was over, when the footage fast forwarded, though Stiles was still lying unconscious in the white floor.

However, he was mumbling in his forced sleep, too quiet for Tony to hear through his speakers but the distress in the teen’s face was clear.

In a matter of seconds, the door to ‘the Quiet Room’ was folded in, Malia rushing in towards Stiles.

Tony’s eyebrows screwed together, wondering how a small girl like Malia Tate was able to kick in a door with such reinforcement, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it as Malia began to shake Stiles awake.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work out well for her, because Stiles woke up in alarm, shaking as strangled shouts left his mouth.

“ _No, no, no, shh! Shh._ ” She said quickly, grabbing his arms. “ _Shut up._ ”

Stiles looked at her, breathing heavily. “ _How’d you get in here?_ ”

“ _I broke the lock_.” She shrugged. “ _And kicked the door in. If I concentrate, I can be pretty strong. Get up_.”

Once again, a look of confusion crossed Tony’s face, his mind pondering in what context her statement was made in.

Malia stood up, dragging Stiles with her and pulling him out of the room, “ _There’s another way to the basement._ ” She said, though she paused before giving the location. “ _Through the closed unit, where they keep the real psychos_.”

The video cut forward, revealing Malia and Stiles down in the basement, looking around the dusty room.

“ _Do you know what you’re looking for_?” Malia asked.

Stiles paused, his head towards a wall where a backwards ‘5’ was written. “ _It has something to do with that_.” He replied.

“ _What does it mean_?” Malia asked.

“ _Self_.” The boy said softly.

Tony felt incredibly confused, because obviously he missed something, but he was too far into the video to go back and start from the very beginning.

“ _Maybe you should tell me more_.” Malia suggested, and Tony couldn’t help but agree.

Stiles gave a dry chuckle, “ _You might not like me if you knew any more_.”

“ _Try to remember that I’m a werecoyote who murdered her family. I won’t judge. I promise_.”

In a second, the genius’ mind was reeling at the words that left Malia’s mouth. What the fuck was a werecoyote?

There was so much they were missing from Stiles’ case.

“ _I_...” Stiles paused, biting his lip. _“You ever heard of a Nogitsune? It’s supposed to be a Japanese legend, but apparently it’s real_.” He frowned, looking down at his slippers. “ _And it’s after me. I_...” He paused, his hand flying up to touch the back of his neck.

“ _I don’t know how much time I have left_.”

•

Stiles looked up quickly as the lights within the bathroom suddenly went off, leaving him in the darkness.

He pulled himself up, hoping that his movement would cause them to turn back on, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

“What the fuck?” Stiles mumbled, his hand reaching for the doorknob when something stopped him.

“ _Stiiiiiiles_.”

He froze, his blood going cold as a horrified look crossed his face, “No.” He whispered.

“ _If you are cold, when do you become hot_?”

“Stop.” Stiles spun around, trying to find the source through the darkness.

“ _What comes down but never goes up_?”

“You’re not real.” Stiles shook his head, his voice cracking.

“ _What has hands but cannot clap_?”

“Just leave me alone!” He cried out blindly, his hand twisting the doorknob, throwing the door open.

A shrill scream left his mouth as he found himself to be running into a familiar bandaged face, the razor sharp, blood stained teeth somehow grinning at him.

“ _Everyone has it, but not can lose it? What is it, Stiles?_ ”

“You’re not real!” He shouted, backing up.

“ _That is wrong_.” The Nogitsune laughed. “ _We are real, Stiles_.”

“Stop saying ‘we’.” Stiles was breathing heavily now, his heart thumping against his chest. How was no one rushing in? They seemed to be keeping surveillance over him, what changed?

A chilling thought ran through Stiles mind, causing him to shiver: What if the Nogitsune killed them?

“ _It is ‘we’, Stiles. It always has been ‘we’! Let me in, Stiles, let me in_.” The Nogitsune sneered, taking a step towards the teenager.

“No.” He whispered before raising his voice, “No!”

“ _Let me in! Let me in!_ ” In a split second, the Nogitsune was in his face, his bandaged hand on Stiles’ cheek, brushing his stitches.

Stiles flinched, backing away from the Void until his head hit the wall behind him.

“ _Let me in, Stiles. Let us in_.” As the demon continued to repeat his chant, his voice began to change tone, as the bandages slowly began to fall away from his face.

“ _Let. Me. In._ ” Stiles watched in horror as the Nogitsune’s bandages fell away, revealing a face identical to Stiles’ own. “Let us in, and we’ll make the world suffer.”

“No,” Stiles shook his head. “No! Get out! Get out of my head!” He yelled, trying to keep his voice from shaking as once again, his Void counterpart was closing in on him.

“ _I’m not in your head Stiles_ ,” The Void sneered. “ _We are one. I am you_.” The Nogitsune’s hands flew up, connecting with Stiles head, a feeling similar to the first time the demon took over him was quickly overcoming Stiles.

“Help!” Stiles screamed. “Let me go!” He thrashed under the Void’s hold, cries of anguish leaving his mouth.

“ _Hey_!” The Nogitsune’s hands moved his head to his shoulders, shaking the teenager. “ _Hey! Kid, wake up!_ ”

Stiles’ eyes flew open with alarm, a gasp leaving his mouth, his chest heaving as he was face to face with Tony Stark.

The engineer quickly let go of Stiles, putting his hands up in the air in surrender as he backed up, giving Stiles room to breathe.

The teenager looked around, finding himself still on the floor of the bathroom, and not in the grasp of the Nogitsune.

It wasn’t real. It was just a dream.

Just a really terrible, horrible dream.

“You with me, kid?”

Stiles turned his attention back towards Tony, his lips pursed before he gave a slight nod.

He still couldn’t believe that he had actually fallen asleep on the bathroom floor. What kind of bullshit was that?

“I’m gonna need you to come with me,” Tony offered a hand to Stiles, which the kid looked at with a doubtful expression.

“Are you being serious?” He questioned.

“Obviously.” The engineer snarked back, though it wasn’t with the same heat he used when interrogating Stiles.

“I’m not going back into that room.” They both knew that he meant the interrogation cell, but Tony’s mind went back to the ‘Quiet Room’ he viewed in the footage.

“That’s not where I’m taking you.” Tony alleviated his accusation. “I do have a few questions for you, but not in the same context as before.”

“I already told you,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “I’m not answering your lame questions.” He could care less if they ‘weren’t in the same context as earlier’.

“I wasn’t planning on giving you a choice,” Tony crossed his arms, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not a psychopathic murderer, and if you answer my questions, you’ll prove my theory to be correct.”

“What?” Was all Stiles had to say.

“Tell me,” The billionaire leaned against the door frame of the bathroom, “How’d you cross paths with a Nogitsune? And what the hell is a werecoyote?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my original plan was to write about oliver’s torture upon stiles, but i couldn’t bring myself to write about that:( i’m sorry guys!


	11. chapter eleven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> between the sinners and the saints

**body.**

_011._

Tony stared at the computer monitor even after it went dark, too disgusted to even move.

While he's faced many terrors, watching torture be inflicted upon a seventeen year old child was utterly horrifying. And if he was feeling a little guilty about accusing the kid before he even knew the full story, Tony felt pretty damn awful after having a bigger piece of the story exposed.

He's always been on S.H.I.E.L.D's ass- before and after the fall- so why wasn't he suspicious from the start?

He assumed it was because it kind of hit home a little, especially since Stiles was being accused of terrorist-like activities, but how did Tony not see that maybe he was being framed?

Obadiah was selling weapons in his name right under Tony's nose and he didn't realize it was too late, maybe it was the same kind of scenario for the kid.

Tony leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. When _the fuck_ had his life become so complicated?

"J, make sure to let Pepper know that I won't be available today. I've got a full schedule."

And a full schedule indeed it would be, especially considering all the questions that were practically burning the tip of his tongue.

He needed to talk to Stiles.

Tony stood up quickly, letting the computer chair roll backwards from the force of his movements, looking around the large area that has grown to become his room in the new S.H.I.E.L.D facility. Of course it was only for the times when it was needed for him to stay overnight (like now) which meant that he lived permanently at the Avengers Tower, much like the other members of the team.

He fitted a portion of the room with computers, allowing him to work on projects when his Avenger duties were in full force, and right now, it unfortunately allowed for him to watch the disgusting video evidence that supported his hypothesis that Stiles wasn't really a criminal.

Tony left his room, walking into the elevator with the movements of a man on a mission. He wasn't planing on talking to the team beforehand because he wasn't really in the mood to argue his side.

So he just decided to get his way no matter what.

Upon entering the med unit, Tony offered a smile towards the receptionist as he stalked past the front desk.

He quite aware of the cameras situated within Stiles' room, but he already had a plan; JARVIS.

Tony would have to be an idiot not have JARVIS wired into the building, especially considering that this was an Avengers facility, S.H.I.E.L.D HQ was just working within it.

So his beloved artificial intelligence would mess with the cameras, giving Tony enough time to talk to the kid. He had a hunch that the room would be empty anyways, so he was planning on have JARVIS freeze the frame.

Easy as pie.

Tony pushed open the door that led to Stiles' hospital room, a bitter sweet delight hitting him when he realized that Stiles was, indeed, still locked in the bathroom.

It was weird how much Stiles reminded Tony of himself as a teenager- sarcastic remarks and clever insults to mask what's really happening on the inside.

The thing is, Tony had to figure out what exactly was happening behind the mask.

He was startled out of his thoughts at the sound of Stiles' shaking voice, frantically yelling, "No! No! Get out! Get out of my head!"

The engineer's eyes widened, rushing over to the door. He twisted he doorknob, cursing under his breath when he found the door to be locked. "Damn angsty teens." He muttered, grabbing the doorknob in one hand before ramming his opposite shoulder into the door, causing to swing open.

It was actually very fortunate that Stiles wasn't close enough to the door to have been hit, but Tony didn't waste time to dwell on it, instead, he rushed over to the distressed, unconscious teenager.

"Stiles!" He called, kneeling in front of him. "Wake up, kid!" He put his hands on Stiles' shoulders only for him to thrash, nearly smacking Tony in the face.

"Help!" He practically screeched, "Let me go!" His voice was hoarse, cracking upon the second word.

"Hey!" Tony countered, "Hey, kid, wake up!" He took a deep breath before shaking Stiles, letting go quickly when his eyes flew open.

The teenager looked completely petrified, his widened eyes defined by the purple bruises beneath them, and his (worryingly) pale skin was covered in a layer of sweat. Tony backed up with his hands raised slightly, trying to give the impression that he wasn't a threat.

Stiles broke his tortured stare, looking around the bathroom, though he didn't seem to be all the way present. There was a sort of far away look in his eyes, as if he was contemplating reality.

"You with me, kid?" He urged.

The seventeen year old's head snapped back towards him, the glaze over his eyes seemingly gone the moment Tony spoke. It was a moment before he nodded, and while Tony didn't quite believe it, he didn't push the issue.

"I'm gonna need you to come with me." Tony took a small step forward with an outstretched hand. The look on Stiles' face as the words left Tony's mouth was enough to make him want to laugh out loud, but he had enough self control to understand what a time and place was.

"Are you being serious?" Stiles raised an eyebrow.

"Obviously." Tony retracted his hand, crossing his arms.

"I'm not going back into that room." He said with an accusatory tone, giving the engineer a suspicious look.

"That's not where I'm taking you," He wanted to roll his eyes, he really did, but he didn't want to make convincing Stiles an even more difficult task than it already was. "I do have a few questions for you, but not in the same context as before."

Stiles rolled his eyes, pulling himself up and off of the ground as he spoke, "I already told you, I'm not answering any of your lame questions."

 _Goddamn_ , was he this stubborn as a seventeen year old?

"I wasn't planning on giving you a choice." Shit, that sounded a little too threatening. "Because I'm pretty sure you're not a psychopathic murderer, and if you answer my questions, you'll prove my theory correct."

Stiles' snarky expression dropped, replaced by one of pure befuddlement.

"What?"

"Tell me," Tony leaned against the doorframe. "How'd you cross paths with a Nogitsune? And what the hell is a werecoyote?"

•

Stiles gave an incredulous look, internally monologuing a ' _what the motherfucking fuck_ ' as he tried to think of a way to answer.

Unable to come up with something witty, he settled on a "How should I know?"

Tony gave him an unimpressed look, which did nothing to ease the ball of anxiety that had settled in Stiles' stomach, "I think you know a lot more than you're letting on."

The lanky teen rolled his eyes, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Try Google, I'm sure you'll find what your looking for there." He subconsciously rubbed his arms, trying to keep warm.

It was weird, the way he always felt cold, no matter what. It wasn't like he was in the same boat as Malia was, he didn't suddenly go from having a fur coat to human skin.

Could it be psychosomatic? Or maybe he was just fucking freezing, who really k-

"Stiles." Tony snapped his fingers, effectively regaining the kid's attention.

Stiles blinked a couple times, "What?"

"You know something," Tony accused. "Dumb remarks aren't going to deter my suspicions."

Stiles wanted to roll his eyes, he really wanted to. But he couldn't, because Tony was right. He did know something, in fact, he knew a lot of things.

But these were the kind of things that would send him right back to Eichen House, except this time to the closed unit.

"Say I do know something," Stiles gave a smug look, "What's in it for me?" He arched an eyebrow.

He was met with a surprised expression before it quickly dissolved into a thoughtful one, "Depends, what do you have in mind?"

' _My freedom_ ', Stiles thought bitterly but he knew that it wasn't likely. Stiles sighed, running his hand through his hair before he was struck with an idea of what he wanted.

"To shower," He stated. "In a fucking nice shower, not this dingey place-" He gestured to the are around him, "And new clothes. Preferably something warm."

The engineer opened his mouth to reply to Stiles' conditions when the teenager hurriedly added another, "And breakfast." He smiled, childish mischief clear in his expression. "Just let your little secret agent know, he'll understand."

Tony could've laughed at how unbelievably smug Stiles was, though it wasn't a surprise. However, he was slightly caught off guard by Stiles' terms, and while he knew that they weren't exactly wild and out there, he was expecting something along the lines of ' _let me the fuck out of here_ ' not for a damn shower.

And breakfast? He was completely positive that the 'agent' Stiles has mentioned was none other than Agent Agent himself.

The kid was proving himself to be a little shit and Tony had a sliver of respect for him because of it.

"Well then," Tony concluded, "Let's get you cleared to leave, then I'll see what I can do."

"Cleared?" Stiles countered. "Better not take long." He mumbled, the teenager rolling his eyes.

Honestly, he just wanted to shower.

He glanced at Tony, though his gaze didn't stay on the billionaire for long, instead flickering behind him, and suddenly he couldn't breathe.

Stood in the far corner of the hospital room was none other than the Nogitsune himself, waving a bandage clad hand, and while Stiles couldn't exactly see his eyes, he knew that he was staring right at him.

"Stiles," Once again he was broken away from his thoughts by the sound of his name, blinking the daze out of his eyes.

Tony gave him an odd look, but instead of commenting on it, he just gestured for Stiles to follow behind him.

•

"No." Stiles crossed his arms, fully aware that he was being childish but his inner monologue of ' _fuck it_ ' was overshadowing any ounce of care he had.

"So you'd rather be in pain?" The doctor questioned.

He was in the midst of being cleared to leave the med unit, but instead of a smooth process that went by in the knick of time, it was now thirty minutes later and he was getting nowhere.

In the half an hour he was sitting on the uncomfortable check up bench or whatever the hell it was called, they had only talked about one thing and one thing only.

Pain medication.

Stiles had said multiple times that pain medication in the form of pills would've been fine, but they had all denied his request with the excuse that leaving such a high dosage of medication in the hands of a seventeen year old would be dumb and irresponsible, to which Stiles had effectively flipped off all occupants in the room.

Their solution was to have someone administer a shot of the pain medication every four hours, to which Stiles responded with an indignant "Fuck no."

And well, no one seemed to give a fuck about his opinion.

Tony was leaning against the wall by the door, an amused look on his face as Stiles rolled his eyes. "I don't know if you guys remember, but me and needles don't mix." He said, his voice full of attitude. "So, it's pills or nothing. You choose."

The people who surrounded gave him incredulous looks, as if receiving orders by a seventeen year old supposed criminal was the craziest thing that had happened to them.

And you know what? It probably was.

"Mr Stilinski, do you understand how incredibly irresponsible it would be for me to leave pills of-"

"Such a high dosage, yeah, I get it." Stiles mocked the doctor, his expression one of high annoyance.

"I don't believe I appreciate your attitude."

Stiles raised his eyebrows, "I don't believe I care." He shrugged.

The doctor open his mouth to respond when Tony stepped forward, raising his hands as if to lessen the tension, "Alright, alright." He stated. "I feel like I need to step in before things happen,"

Stiles rolled his eyes once again. It wasn't like he was gonna go electrocute some people because he wasn't getting his way. He may seem immature, but he wasn’t.

"Look, I'll take the prescription and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." He alleviated, giving Stiles a pointed look when the teenager went to add in his own two cents.

Honestly, the fact that the adults in this building kept acting like they held some sort of authority over him was getting even more annoying by the second.

"Please, like I would try and get high on some pain medication." He mumbled, though a part of him was highly aware of the fact that that was not their reasoning for not giving him the medication.

The doctor sighed, picking up his clipboard before he scribbled something down, handing a sheet of paper to Tony. "It'll be two pills every four hours." He explained. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"Great." Stiles clapped his hands together. "Now that that's dealt with, we can get going on. I have a shower with my name on it."

"Not so fast," The doctor quickly stopped him, "We're not done here. One, we're not sure if your body temperature is back to where it should be, and two, we still need to talk about your arc reactor."

Instinctively, Stiles hand went directly towards his chest, his fingers brushing the outline of his reactor. "What's it to ya?" He questioned, suspicious evident in his tone.

"Mr Stilinski, are you aware of how filthy and rust ridden that piece of metal is? How did you even get your hands on it?" Doctor What's-His-Face questioned. "In fact, showering may be the last thing you need to do right now, especially if it might risk spreading an infection throughout your body."

Stiles' eyebrows furrowed, "I don't know if you knew this or not, but I was kind of in a lake for a little while, oh, and would you look at that, I'm not dead. I'm pretty sure a shower isn't going to kill me." He sneered.

"Stiles," The doctor pressed a hand to his own forehead, looking exasperated. "We're worried that with the way your arc reactor is positioned in your chest, the rust from the metal will enter your bloodstream and cause infection. We need to know how you crafted your reactor."

Stiles stared at him for a moment before crossing his arms, "Good luck with that."

Tony, who has now broken his five minute vow of silence, spoke up, "Kid, do you want to get out of here or not? Just tell them."

Stiles gave him an unimpressed look, utterly annoyed by the idiocy surrounding him. "Listen, if I knew, maybe I'd say something, but maybe I wouldn't." He knew he was being difficult, but that was basically his life mission.

"What do you mean 'if you knew'?" And now all eyes were on him. Once upon a time, he would've reveled in the attention and probably would've made some lame sarcastic comment for people to laugh, but now, he wanted them to leave him alone.

He looked down at his legs, suddenly interested in the sweatpants covering them instead of the conversation he had involved himself in.

"Stiles," He took a deep breath, trying to stave off his annoyance, feeling the familiar tickle in his finger tips.

"We're not gonna be able to help you if you don't let us."

He closed his eyes, counting down from ten, clenching his fist. His frustration grew with every word that left their mouths, and he could feel Tony's eyes on him.

He was sure that everyone in this room knew about his electrical problems, but he was also sure they didn't seem to give a shit.

" _Mr Stilinski_ ,"

And the next thing he knows, there's a hand on his shoulder and his eyes open, his hands suddenly slamming onto the metal sides of the hospital bench, and the lights are flickering.

"Stiles!" The doctor and his nurses were standing away from him, the doctor (who Stiles would come to learn was the one who grabbed his shoulder) clutching his hand as if he was in pain.

To Stiles, it all happened so fast. His fingers were tingling, a light burn on his fingertips from the contact they made with the sides of the bench. He barely had anytime to see the damage he had done before Tony pulled him out of the room, though he was able to catch sight of the blackened sides of the bench.

"What the hell are you doing? What part of incognito do you not understand?!" The engineer yelled as he dragged Stiles down the hall.

He wasn't exactly moving quickly, taking pity on the dazed teen and his broken ankle despite his frustration with the situation.

"What the hell am I doing? What the hell was that! Was that part of your plan? Have them grill me for you?" Stiles retaliated. "That was not my fault!"

"Not your fault? So what, people just fry the sides of a damn bench when they get upset? Is that an everyday thing where your from?"

"Okay, you literally have someone on your team who turns into a green monster when he gets angry, so are you really gonna come at me about what's a 'regular thing'?" He exclaimed, stopping in the stride.

Tony stopped with him, letting go of his arm only to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Okay, fine, you got me there. And no, that wasn't my plan. But I would like to know how you constructed your arc reactor, because before that video cut ou-"

"What video are you talking about?" Stiles questioned, ignoring the burning pain throughout his leg.

"Surveillance footage. From Eichen House."

He wanted to be surprised, but he just wasn't. Brunski was a real son of a bitch. "Look," He said, trying to keep his voice level. "I can't...I can't remember."

Tony raised an eyebrow, "You can't remember how you built an arc reactor?" He sounded unbelieving, which only served to increase Stiles' distaste for him.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying." He sneered. "I'm pretty sure I was like half dead, so sue me if I can't remember building a piece of shit metal contraption."

Tony stared at him for a moment, effectively making him a little uncomfortable, before speaking up, "When you say 'half dead', it brings about a few more questions. Like how you faked your own death?"

Stiles froze entirely at that, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"A few days after you left Eichen House, they found your body."

"That...That's not possible." He shook his head. "I'm not dead. That wasn't my body."

Tony looked torn between being confused, worried, and intrigued. "It was. Cause of death was a cut right through the stomach. It was you, which is why I want to know how you did it."

"Tony, it was not me." Stiles insisted. "I...I-I don't know. I didn't fake my death, I just ran away." He subconsciously ticked off each of his fingers, trying to alleviate the overwhelming panic he was beginning to feel.

He wasn't dead. Everyone in Beacon Hills thought he was dead. And a body? That was his?

"Then that means someone faked your death for you." Tony concluded, "Which may lead to more problems."

"Great." Stiles gave him a dirty look. "You're really helping here." His mind was running a mile a minute before it stopped, landing on the final conclusion that was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

How did he miss all the signs pointing to the truth? The dream, the sightings, the feelings?

There was only one way they could've found a body that was his but also wasn't his.

" _Oh my god_."

 

 


	12. chapter twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and you'll blow us all away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think in the comments! I love hearing your opinions and thoughts, it means a lot!

**stiles.**

_012_

**NOVEMBER 10TH**

 

"I told you this would happen!" He was yelling, his face bright red with anger, but thankfully not his eyes. "I freaking  _told_ you! But you still let him go!" 

Scott had his hands tangled in his hair, and he was pacing along the living room. His mom and Sheriff Stilinski were sitting on the couch, watching his episode, both with worried expressions on their faces. 

"He's freaking gone!" He yelled loudly, "What if we can't find him?" He was breathing harder, now wringing his hands together as his voice lowered in volume. "What if...what if he's dead? What if we can't find him because he's bleeding out somewhere?" His bottom lip was trembling, and he was suddenly overcome with immense sadness, but suddenly, as if a switch flipped his sadness fueled his anger. 

" _You,_ " He spun around, pointing an accusatory finger at Noah, his eyes flickering a blood red, "This is all your fault! You let him go!" 

"Scott," His mother stood up quickly, but it did nothing to deter Scott.

"I tried to tell you! I can't protect him in there, and now he's gone!" His eyes stayed a bright red, but it didn't stop the Sheriff from standing up and approaching the teenager. "You did this! What if he's dead? It's because of you!"

"This is all your fault! You did this!" He blinked, and suddenly his eyes were brown again, now glazed over with unshed tears. "I can't lose him." He sighed, his voice now small.

It was silent, both adults watching him sadly, tears of their trickling down their faces. In a way, they both kind of expected this kind of blow up from the seventeen-year-old werewolf, but it was still disconcerting. 

It was no secret that Scott and his friends had already gone through more in their high school years than some would go through in their entire life. And if they had to add losing Stiles to that list, then they were already too far gone. 

"I'm sorry," Scott spoke after a moment, "It's just...he's my best friend, you know? I can't...I can't lose him too." His heart hurt, and it wasn't something that his enhanced healing could cure. 

Stiles has been his best friend since that day in pre-school, they were four years old. It was a story that both Melissa and Noah found hilarious to recount, but both Stiles and Scott were too mortified to even think of. Scott had no friends at the time, and he was playing alone in the sandbox. He remembered being particularly proud of the sandcastle he had built, but not even two minutes after he finished constructing it, a small, brown-haired little boy ran up to him. 

"Hi." He had said, and the friendship could have begun there, but it didn't. It began when Stiles unzipped his jeans and started peeing on Scott's sandcastle. Any other four-year-old would have been disgusted, and probably would have cried, but not Scott. 

No. Instead, Scott stood up and joined him.

And history was made.

From then on, they were inseparable. Stiles was there for Scott when he was six and his Dad left, and Scott was there for Stiles when he was eight and his mom got diagnosed with dementia, and later when he was ten, and Claudia passed away. They were always each other's go to for anything and everything, but now, neither of them had each other. Their dependence on each other only grew when the Scott became a werewolf in their sophomore year. Scott didn't know how to react now. 

"I'm sorry," He repeated, looking at Noah, "It's not your fault, I'm so sorry." His anger had melted away, and replaced with regret. "I didn't actually mean it, I was just..." He trailed off, looking down.

He was shocked when he felt arms wrapped around him, and when he looked up, he was surprised to find himself in the tight embrace of the Sheriff. "I know." He mumbled, hugging the teenager tightly. Scott hugged him back, feeling a way of tranquility when his mother joined the hug. 

"We're going to find him." Melissa urged. 

And Scott felt hopeful, he felt like everything was going to be okay.

But then his phone rang, ruining the moment.

"Um," Scott wiggled his way out of the embrace, "Sorry." He pulled out his smartphone from the back pocket of his jeans, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion when he found it to be Lydia. 

"Hello?"

-

Noah Stilinski was a strong man. 

Of course, being a single father meant that one had to be strong, but being the single father of a rambunctious child meant that one had to be immensely strong, both mentally, physically, and emotionally. 

After Claudia died, both Noah and his son had used each other as a crutch, but it wasn't until six months after that Noah realized that maybe he was leaning a little too much on the shoulder of his ten-year-old kid. 

And sadly, he didn't realize it on his own, it took a long,  _loud_ lecture from one Melissa McCall for him to understand the weight he had placed on the shoulders of his kid. So, he cleaned up his act.

And he believed things were going fine, or at least, that was until he found out that there was more to the world than just normalcy, and sadly, he wasn't talking about werewolves. Aliens, Norse Gods,  _superheroes_. It was wild and ridiculous, and his young, impressionable  _and_ excitable son found it absolutely fascinating. 

Honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised when Stiles was sixteen and tried to convince him that werewolves were real, and as it turns out,  _they were_. That was only a month ago, and he's honest when he says that he wanted to take Stiles and leave, to get him away from the exposure of Beacon Hills. But once again, this is Stiles he's talking about, the kid who brings his own father a salad while he's stuffing curly fries into his own mouth, the kid who somehow got copies of the keys to the McCall house. 

There was no way he was going to get away from this.

But he should've known something like this would have happened. His son was only human, and while he's not necessarily saying that Stiles was weak, but he wasn't some prodigy with a bow like Allison Argent, the other human of the McCall Pack, and he didn't have any supernatural abilities that would keep him protected.

No, he was just a teenager who was too smart for his own good and had a knack for swinging a baseball bat around.

And now he was nowhere to be found.

Noah was seconds from passing out when he arrived at the horrifying crime scene at Eichen House. The amount of blood that splattered and puddled on the floor was highly unnerving, and the fact that various rusty medical tools were covered in the sticky red substance was enough to make anyone feel sick.

And when he found out that a lot of it belonged to his own child, he went numb. Things escalated when he was informed that the awful acts were committed by Oliver Johnson, who was also found responsible for the murder of Malia Tate before he took his own life. But none of that pointed to the location of his son.

Now, Stiles was smarter. Much smarter than many people gave him credit for, but that is also what had Noah worried. If Stiles was able to escape the clutches of an insane murderer, he would have found his way home, found his way to help, but he never showed up.

No part of him wanted to believe that there was any chance of Stiles being dead, but sadly, he had enough common sense to acknowledge the fact that he may be looking for a body. 

It was hard enough for him to find out what was going on, but having to relay that information to the McCalls- especially Scott- had proved itself to be difficult.

Melissa- sweet, caring, loving Melissa- had just pursed her lips and nodded with tear-filled eyes, but Scott? Scott had lost it. He would be lying if he said that Scott's accusatory words didn't hurt him, especially when they entailed blaming him for the potential loss of Stiles. And it wasn't because it wasn't true, it was because it  _was_ true. 

When Stiles had suggested that staying in Eichen House was safest for all of them, Noah had his (reasonable) doubts. He had heard the rumors about the place, the stories, everything, but they've never been backed by truth. So he let himself be convinced that Stiles would be okay there. After all, it was only seventy-two hours.

He was wrong.

Everything Scott had said was true. It was his fault.

In the early years of Stiles' life, Noah kind of kept his distance, using the excuse of work to watch from afar. But really, it was because he had no idea how to relate or act around a child. Noah grew up with a very lonely life, he was an only child with a father who worked more than he was at home and a mother who wanted a daughter, not a son.

It was one of those things that set him and Claudia apart. While she too grew up an only child, she was always smothered with affection and attention. Claudia grew up in a small town in Poland, and she lived above the bakery her mother owned along with her sister. Her father was an accountant, though from what Noah's late wife relayed to him, he often worked in the office her family had turned the spare room of their apartment into. Family was a large part of Claudia's life, and she wanted nothing more but to share that with their only son.

When Stiles was five, Noah was a deputy at the station in Beacon Hills, and during one of his lunch breaks, he remembers receiving a call from Stiles' kindergarten teacher.

It was no secret that Stiles was a very rambunctious, hyperactive child. Ever since he learned to talk, he would talk a mile a minute, and ever since he could walk, he would be bouncing off the walls. 

But Noah never thought it would escalate to be more than just lots of energy.

Apparently, Stiles had been a bright boy from the start. He could recite his ABC's from memory just twenty minutes after learning it and he somehow figured out that two plus two equaled four before the teacher even starting on the idea of addition. But his intellect wasn't the problem, it was the boredom that followed. 

When Stiles was bored, he elected to talk or make any kind of noise that he found himself capable of. Whether it was poking fun at the other kindergarteners in his class or tapping out a rhythm on the desk with his fingers. And apparently, it raised a few flags for his teacher.

So during his lunch break, Noah had to pick his son up from school and take him to a specialist to be tested, per the school's wishes.

And that was the day that Stiles Stilinski was diagnosed with attention-deficit-hyperactive-disorder. 

Truth be told, Noah kind of expected it, but what he didn't expect was the upset the diagnosis had caused his five-year-old. Stiles had been rather torn up about it, and when asked, he had explained- in a way only a small child like him could have- that he didn't want to be different. He had spilled that some of the other kids in his class had practically ostracized his best friend Scott just because he had asthma and couldn't run around like the rest of them, and that he didn't want that to happen to him. 

It was that moment that Noah decided that he could no longer watch Stiles grow up from the sidelines. In order to console his kid, he did what he thought any other parent would do, and took him to the trademarked most amazing place on Earth for a kindergartener- Chuck E Cheese. 

And from then on, Noah and Stiles shared a kind of bond that couldn't be broken. 

So when Melissa wrapped her arms around both him and Scott in the living room of the McCall house and mumbled that they would find Stiles, he couldn't help but feel hopeful.

It's too bad that all that hoped washed away when Scott's phone rang.

"Hello?" Both Melissa and Noah watched as Scott's face morphed from confusion to horror before he froze, his phone dropping from his grasp and onto the carpet.

Despite the fear of what was to come, Noah bent down and picked up his phone, wincing when the contact photo that was displayed for Lydia Martin was a picture of both Lydia and Stiles sitting on the couch, both of them with their heads bent back and their mouths wide open with what he presumed to be laughter. God, he really missed his son.

With that thought in mind, he answered the call where Scott left off, "Hello?"

-

It was no secret that Stiles and Lydia shared a special kind of bond, even before Deaton announced it to them before the whole surrogate sacrifice debacle. Despite the fact that they had become close in the second semester of their sophomore year, Lydia found herself feeling the strong connection she had to Stiles. 

She had always been aware of the large crush he had on her, but never in her life would she have ever thought that she would one day feel the same.

And she didn't actually acknowledge her growing feelings for him until after that fate-filled day when she kissed him. Of course, at the time, it wasn't fueled by the idea of figuring out her own feelings, but by making sure Stiles wasn't going to pass out at the hands of an intense panic attack. 

Unfortunately, even after her discovery, she never acted on her new found feelings. Instead, she found a distraction in Aiden. 

Oh, what a mistake that was. 

More than just someone she had developed feelings for, Stiles was someone who saw her for who she truly was. He realized that she was smart, not ditzy like she (so foolishly) tried to portray herself as. He wanted to be friends with Lydia Martin, not Jackson Whittemore's girlfriend. 

In a way, Stiles was perfect for her, and she just let him slip between her fingers. 

She's always known of him, due to the fact that they've gone to the same school since kindergarten. He had a genius that rivaled hers, and despite the two of them never really becoming actual friends until their second year of high school, they've been head to head since grade point averages and class ranking actually mattered.

But she remembers that one day in fourth grade when she shared her lunch with Stiles. It was what? Two, maybe three weeks after Claudia Stilinski had died, and for a bunch of children who had no real experience with how to react to an immediate death in the family, everyone kind of steered clear of Stiles. Except for Scott McCall of course, but he had been absent that day. Why? He had no idea, but he was sure it had something to do with the severe asthma Scott had. 

It was lunchtime, and Stiles was sitting alone had the table neighboring Lydia's, and he was quiet, which was something out of the ordinary, but that wasn't what caught Lydia's attention. There was no Star Wars lunchbox in front of Stiles and there was no lunch tray with greasy pizza on top. He had nothing. 

And because this was before Lydia had tried to remake herself into a ditzy, rude popular girl her teenage self had thought would be perfect for Jackson, she wanted to do something. 

So, with her baby pink sundress and matching bows in her hair, ten-year-old Lydia Martin stood up and moved herself to sit across from Stiles, ignoring the odd stares she received from her friends. 

Stiles was rendered surprised when she had sat down in front of him, and he was left in even more shock when she offered him a smile and unzipped her lunchbox, lifting up the other half of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich for him to have. 

She ended sharing her whole lunch with him, and while neither of the two uttered a word to the other, it was something that they would always remember.

Sometimes Lydia regrets not furthering the friendship from there. 

Lydia couldn't help but recall the memories she had made with Stiles, even as she was driving down the road with Aiden in her car. Of course, she was still aware of the commands her GPS was giving her and her surroundings, but she really only had her mind of one thing- helping Stiles. 

She felt awful that Stiles had fallen victim to the Nogitsune's grasp, even if there wasn't any way she could have prevented it. He was a good person, and now his picture was tainted by the doings of a vengeful Japanese demon. 

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Aiden asked, shaking her from her thoughts. 

"Yes." She answered primly, cocking an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because that's the fourth left you've made," He said smugly. "And I made not pay attention in school, but I do know that four lefts make a circle." 

"I know what I'm doing, Aiden," She rolled her eyes. "Plus, I'm following what the GPS is telling me." She made another turn, finally pulling into the parking lot of their destination. 

"What?" He questioned. "Lydia, the GPS isn't even on."

Now it was her turn to be confused. "What are you talking about? I-" She froze when her eyes flicked outside of the front windshield, her eyes landing on the body lying limp in the middle of the parking lot. 

She abandoned her discussion with Aiden in favor of tearing off her seatbelt and making a beeline from the car to the body, though she wished she didn't. "Oh my god," She gasped in horror.

There, lying in front of her, with an arm slung over his stomach, just centimeters away from the long, deep gash embedded into his skin, was Stiles. 

She covered her mouth, trying to delay the inevitable as she looked him over. In her shock, she barely felt Aiden pull her phone from her pocket.

His eyes were open and empty, staring up blankly at the sky. His skin was paler, much,  _much_ paler than it should be, the only color on his skin came from the red saturating his stomach and his arm. She stared at him, waiting for him to blink, to gasp, to do  _anything_. But he didn't. And the urge got stronger and stronger, and she could hear Aiden speaking, probably to someone he called from her phone. Lydia tried to stave off the sound bubbling in her throat, but when she heard Aiden use the words "dead" and "Stiles" in the same sentence, she knew any ounce of self-control was gone. So she screamed, wailing his name in misery and sorrow, the pitch of her scream high in frequency and pain. 

" _Stiles!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so on Lydia's part, she was not yet aware of what happened at Eichen House yet.


	13. chapter thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and no one shall make them afraid.

**truth.**

_013._

All in all, Stiles was having a rough week. If he were given the choice, he would rather take a week of AP exams than deal with all the shit he's dealt with this week. At least then he would actually have just one thing to focus his attention on because now, his mind was running rampant.

One of the things was  _why the hell am I locked in this damn room?_

Truth be told, it wasn't a  _bad_ room. Stiles guessed it was some guest bedroom (Only God knows how many of those probably occupy this building) due to the gigantic, expensive looking bed and the dresser and desk occupying two sections of one of the walls. Not to mention the large tv stand that held the biggest flat screen television that he had ever seen, along with various other gaming and media systems. The funny thing was that the room was much bigger than the _living room_ in his house back in Beacon Hills.

It was wild. 

And he probably would've enjoyed it more if it wasn't for the circumstances leading him to have occupied the room.

After Stiles had been notified of the body (that  _definitely_ was not his), Tony had been summoned back to the conference room. Honestly, he wasn't even all that surprised when he was practically shoved into the room, with Tony shutting the door after strict instructions to his A.I to "not let Stiles leave the room and not allow any non-Avenger approved officials in," and Stiles was left alone with no new clothes and no food. 

It was truly disheartening, but at least he wasn't locked in a hospital room or the damn interrogation room.

He rubbed his arms, once again trying to rid himself of the cold, trying to focus his mind on the most important manner at hand; the body. There was no way Stiles faked his own death because even if he could, there was no way he would even want to. Sure, he ran away with the intention of never seeing his family or his friends ever again, but he just thought they'd  _assume_ he was dead, but he would never have wanted them to ever find a body. That just seemed unnecessarily cruel, and he knew that when people were missing for an extended period of time, they were declared dead even with the absence of proof, but for some cases that took years, however, Stiles also knew that with evidence at hand ( _Eichen House_ ), there was enough to tell them he made not have made it.

But a body? 

That only meant one thing; it was the Nogitsune's doing, which also meant that he was still after Stiles.

 _Shit,_ Stiles' anxiety just fucking grew ten times the size it usually was. 

What was really bugging him though, was why didn't the Nogistune just...consume him already? It wasn't like it wasn't obvious that Stiles was vulnerable right now ( _fucking_ HYDRA) so why wasn't Void? He feared that there was another move coming and that he was just a sitting duck. 

Stiles was conflicted.

He was really at a crossroads, torn between spilling his secrets and continuing to be his stubborn, shitty self- though, of course, even if he went with the first option, he would continue to be his stubborn, shitty self but like, just in a _different_ way.

It was just, he was so, _so_ tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Any way that he could be tired, he was. 

He flopped back against the cozy blankets adorning the bed, his hands coming up to massage his temple. He was so frustrated, and his mind was so muddled- both from exhaustion and the "severe" concussion. Either way, it had him utterly frustrated. 

Stiles was used to just being able to figure things out. Sure, sometimes it took a little longer than others. Figuring things out was his forte, things pieced themselves together in his mind, the same way one would fit puzzle pieces together. But it was like the all the pieces of this puzzle weren't meant to fit together, instead, they were meant to be apart of a different, bigger picture. 

"Fuck." He groaned, drawing out the vowel. 

_"Is there a problem, Mister Stilinski?"_

He gasped loudly as he jumped, his hands flying off of his face. "What the hell?" He yelled up at the ceiling. 

_"My apologies. I am J.A.R.V.I.S, Mr. Stark's Arti-"_

"Yeah, yeah, I know who you are," Stiles rolled his eyes, waving his hands, "But, like, why are you talking to me?"

_"Mr. Stark has requested for me to watch over you."_

Stiles' eyebrows furrowed, a huff of annoyance leaving his mouth as he fell back against the bed again.  "Of course he did." He mumbled, rolling his eyes. "No damn privacy in this hell hole."

His ankle throbbed badly and he had the beginnings of a brutal headache, and part of him wanted to just close his eyes and block out the world. But with sleep came nightmares, and he wasn't really feeling up for that at the moment (or ever but that wasn't very relevant right now) 

And oh God, he could literally  _smell_ himself at the moment, that's how badly he needed a shower. He assumed that his little dip in the icy pond of horror only escalated his must but it's not like that made anything better. 

Finally Stiles pulled himself up, looking around the room before his eyes landed on the door that most certainly was not the exit. Muttering in hope underneath his breath that the door led to what he though it did, he walked and turned the knob, grinning in delight when he found it to lead to a (large) bathroom. He could have cried, that was how happy he was.

Stiles crossed the bathroom, momentarily ignoring his awe of how fancy and large the bathroom was, instead opting to turn the handles of the very fancy shower. 

Only to find that it did not work. 

"What the fuck?" He mumbled. "What kind of expensive shit like this doesn't work?" He spoke aloud, knowing that he was talking to no one.

Or at least he thought he was talking to no one. 

_"I regret to inform you that Mr Stark has given me strict instructions to not allow you to shower. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you."_

Stiles gaped in a true novel fashion with wide eyes and a dropped jaw for several seconds, before an indignant noise left his mouth. "Okay one, are there cameras in the bathrooms? Because that's probably illegal and an invasion of privacy! Which is a constitutional right, which means I can sue! I mean, I probably won't, given the circumstances, but I could! And two, how the hell is he going to deny me the right to bathe? Isn't that unconstitutional as well? Because it should be! I know you don't have the sense of smell or whatever but I'm pretty ripe, dude! He better have a good reason or I swear to God I will-" He cut himself off, knowing full well that he was rambling, a side effect of his frustration and anxiety. Stiles huffed, running a hand through his greasy hair, walking out of the bathroom and looking up at the ceiling, awaiting the A.I's response.

 _"No, there are not cameras installed into the restrooms, however, I was able to hear you and sense your distress from the installations in the loft."_ J.A.R.V.I.S spoke smoothly, and for a computer, he sounded amused.  _"I also would like to inform you that Mr Stark requested for me to not allow you to shower due to his worries over your arc reactor. He believes that continued exposure to water will damage it and end up furthering your injuries."_

Once again, Stiles rolled his eyes. The arc reactor was fine, and it wasn't causing the pain in his chest. That was the hypothermia. Duh. Big differences between the two. 

He let out a deep sigh, ducking into the bathroom once again and closing the door behind him. Hesitantly, he grabbed the bottom of his soft, too-thin hospital shirt and pulled it up along his torso, revealing his chest. He wasn't gonna lie, it did look pretty bad, but he assumed at first that it was the helicopter crash that caused all the bruising along his skin, but upon further examination, it seemed to be extending from where the reactor was slotted into his chest. 

He stared for a while, at least four to five minutes, before he realized that he honestly had no real recollection of how he was able to assemble the arc reactor, especially with the materials he had on hand in the basement of Eichen House. He could sort of recall the hazy beginnings of the idea to build it, but he couldn't seem to remember how exactly he had done it. 

It really shouldn't have been possible.

Stiles was bleeding out, mostly on the verge of death, and there wasn't exactly the suitable materials to forge a fully functioning arc reactor. And certainly he shouldn't have been able to insert it into his chest on his own, so just what the fuck had happened?

He dropped his shirt, bringing his hand up to his forehead, using his thumb and his index finger to rub his temples, trying to formulate a possible theory. 

After minutes of intense, silent thinking, Stiles suddenly stood up straighter, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by an exotic, but completely plausible idea. 

The Nogitsune. 

It was entirely possible for the demon spirit to have somehow influenced him or something, especially considering that when Stiles was legitimately possessed, he was able to build a bomb, despite having no prior knowledge how to make one. 

But why? 

If the Nogitsune wanted him, he was vulnerable enough then for him to have been possessed once more, so why did the Nogitsune  _help him_? 

In a weird way, that was scarier to think about than actually being possessed because it was so completely out of character.

Stiles sighed, looking back into the mirror only to jump in terror when the reflection staring back at him wasn't his own, but the mummified demon in a bomber jacket. 

His eyes went wide though he practically slapped his hands against his face, trying to block out the world. After a few seconds, he dropped his hands, hoping that his reflection would be back to normal, but it was to no avail, because the Nogitsune was still in the mirror, staring back at him. 

His mouth quivered, too consumed with shock to articulate an actual thought or something to say. His hands were opening and closing into fists at his sides, a sign of his anxiousness, and his heart was beating a mile a minute. 

" _Stilessss."_ The Nogitsune hissed, drawing out the final letter of his name. 

He didn't respond, breathing hard. 

" _You think you're safe?_ " His gravelly, hoarse voice almost sounded amused. " _I'm everywhere and no where. Even the Mighty Avengers can't protect you."_

Stiles shook his head, "I'm not s-scared of you."

" _Of course you're not,"_ The demon laughed, making Stiles flinch. " _You're scared of what I can be. Of what we can be, Stiles."_ Though the Nogitsune was in the mirror, he seemed to get closer to Stiles. " _We can push the world to its knees, Stiles. We are one."_ He grinned, spiked teeth on display.

 _"And this time, we'll get everyone out of the way. We'll finish what we started Stiles."_ He sneered before he began cackling, his bandaged hands undoing the bandages covering his face.

Stiles' eyes widened even more, knowing what was coming and he was suddenly able to move again. He let out a shout of panic, whipping around and practically falling into the door as he twisted the knob, following to the ground outside the bathroom. Instead of acknowledging the pain that swirled through his body at the movement, Stiles, hopped up on frightened adrenaline, stood up and slammed the door shut.

He stood there, breathing heavily against the door. He had one hand clamped against the fabric of his shirt, over his heart, feeling the constant thump of his panicked heartbeat. 

To him, the worst thing about that whole encounter was that he wasn't entirely sure if it  _actually_ happened or not. 

" _Is there something wrong, Mister Stilinski? My sensors are detecting an rapid heartbeat and the increase of your breathing."_

Stiles ignored the A.I, trying to figure himself out.

_"I'm afraid that if you fail to respond, I will be inclined to contact Mr Stark."_

His head snapped up at that and he was quick to deny. "No, no, I'm great. Fantastic actually, just peachy." He gave an over-exaggerated thumbs up at the ceiling before he drooped, running his hands through his greasy hair once more and making his way to the bed. 

But he didn't sit, he stood there for a second, staring at the pillows decorating the upper side of the bed, taking in deep breaths, trying to calm his thudding heart. What if it wasn't real? What if he was full-on losing his mind? 

Or maybe he was so damn exhausted that he was hallucinating, his mind so numb with the overwhelming feeling of being tired that it was bringing his nightmares into the real world. 

...Just like after the Nemeton.

Despite his common sense urging him to not, Stiles let himself flop face first onto the bed, ignoring the stinging on his face as he buried his head into the pillows. Fortunately, he was smart enough to not undo his stitches, instead taking great care in how he pressed his face into the cozy pillows. 

He could hear J.A.R.V.I.S speaking to him from above but he just ignored it, instead he focused on not freaking out. He's had enough panic attacks since he's been awake to last him for a while, the last thing he needed was to freak out over something he wasn't even sure actually happened. 

He was fully aware that he was playing the role of an angst-ridden, grumpy teenager but he figured that he was entitled. Plus, the couch was ridiculously comfy and he found himself relaxing against it.

However, he was only physically relaxed. Stiles' mind was still working on overdrive to figure out what the hell was going on with him. There were only two real theories on what just happened- Stiles was for real losing his mind or this was all apart of the Nogitsune's plan and he was unknowingly going along with it.

And maybe there was a third option, and it tied back to how going into Purgatory messed him up. There was a door left open in his mind and he supposedly closed it, but what if he didn't? What if that's how the Nogitsune got the drop on him? What if he only temporarily got back to normal when they saved Malia, and then things just got worse? 

Stiles sighed, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to bid the thoughts away. He just wanted to be at peace for once since Scott got bitten. Being stuck alone was messing with his head and he briefly wondered if this was Tony's plan or something; have him stuck in this room with nothing but his thoughts and, lack for better word, his stench. 

It was diabolical. 

But for some reason, Stiles couldn't seem to think that Tony would actually do it. He had seemed so genuine when he claimed that he believed that Stiles wasn't a criminal, and he couldn't find himself to think he was lying. That this was all just a ruse to crack him.

No, Stiles wasn't a werewolf. He couldn't hear heartbeats and he couldn't hear if it skipped a beat or not. But he was good at reading people- or at least he considered himself to be good at it- and Tony's words seemed authentic enough.

However, he was not able to dwell on the matter anymore when he heard the door to the bedroom swing open. His conscience told him that he should look up and investigate, but he didn't have the energy. Between the exhaustion fueled by the fear of nightmares and the fact that has not eaten the the right amount of food to sustain his seventeen year old self, he was pretty low on non-adrenaline charged fuel. 

A hand landed on his, though it was quickly removed, causing Stiles to look. "Holy shit, no offense kid, but your hair feels disgusting."

Stiles rolled his eyes, looking up at Tony, "Well considering that I tried to take a shower- which was apart of our deal, in case you didn't remember-"  _And may or may not be an empty promise on Stiles' side._ "Only to find that it doesn't work. So yeah, my hair is greasy. I also don't appreciate the fact that your A.I is spying on me." 

Tony raised his eyebrows, "Of course J.A.R.V.I.S is spying on you, that's why I'm here. He told me that you were freaking out."

"What?" His voice was nonchalant but in truth, he was annoyed. Sure, maybe he was freaking out at first but he could his own. "The only thing I have to freak out about is that we made a deal and you're not holding up your end of the bargain." He sat up, crossing his arms. 

"I'm sure J informed you as to why I restricted your access." Tony copied his movements, crossing his own arms, taking a moment to first gesture to Stiles' chest.

"Hate to break it to you dude, but one measly shower isn't going to kill me. My chest doesn't even hurt." 

Tony gave him a look that told him he didn't believe a word Stiles was saying. "Look, I'm gonna be real with you. I saw the medical reports after your little escapade in the lake and I had a nice talk with the doctors after they mentioned the reactor when you got cleared. However you managed to make that arc reactor when you were half dead- which I would like to know how you managed to get your hands on palladium and electromagnets in a basement, it's poisoning your blood and the rust could potentially be infecting your blood as well but-"

"Hold on, how do you know I made this in a basement?" 

"I told you, I watched what happen at Eichen House, but the footage cut out after...after the reason why you needed the arc reactor happened. I need to know how you made it so I can figure out how to fix or whether or not you need a new one."

Stiles stared at him for a moment before he finally spoke, "I already told you, I don't- I  _can't_ remember, okay?"

"I thought you were lying when you told me that earlier." Tony stated. 

"Really? You already know I built, why would I lie about not remembering how?"

"We're not even going to go there," Tony rubbed his temples, reminding himself not to argue with a child. "Okay, well, if you really don't remember than I really don't have a choice other than offering you a new one."

"Excuse me? A new what?"

"Come on, I thought you were supposed to be smart. Look, I interrupted a meeting- which was spent trying to convince the others that you're not some criminal mastermind- so I could come down here, so use your head." The billionaire states. "I'm talking about replacing your reactor with one that won't kill you."

"It was rhetorical." Stiles defended. "The real question is why would I agree with that?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"How do I know you won't use this as leverage?" 

"We already made a deal, didn't we?"

He gave him look of disbelief, "And I've already established that you're not holding up your end." He deadpanned. 

"Geez kid, by allowing me to replace your reactor, I'd be holding up my end." Tony said, though his tone implied the lack of the "duh" at the end of his statement. 

Stiles faltered, tapping his fingers along the mattress. "I..." He trailed off, his chest seizing with anxiety. "Look, I get your point, but I don't know if I can do that..." He stated, letting out a puff of air. 

"I get that, I really do, but the other option is that you might die." 

" _Die."_   His eyes flickered past Tony's shoulder, trying to swallow the gasp of surprise that was threatening to leave his mouth. 

There, standing behind Tony Stark, was the Nogitsune.

Or at least, it was the Nogitsune, but not in the 1940s bomber jacket and the gauze covered skin. It was an exact clone of Stiles, except this one was much paler and his eyes were sunken into his skull. He looked like a corpse. 

Void Stiles terrified him more than the Nogitsune's true form did. He needed to get out of there.

"Fine." He said, though his voice was shaky, against his will. "I'll do it, whatever, let's just go."

Despite the odd look Tony gave him, the engineer led him out of the room, right past the Void Stiles, which was only seen by the real Stiles. But as much as Stiles pretended he saw nothing, he would most likely never get Void Stiles' laugh out of his head. Especially when he could still hear it clear as day even after they got into the elevator. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i'm still teasing Stiles' big reveal, but I promise it will be in the next chapter. Sorry I'm super busy with soccer and work, but these chapters are still coming and the plot is going exactly how i planned it too. comment what you think!!


	14. chapter fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i may not live to see our glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> read the end note

**reveal.**

_014._

Clint pulled down the duffel bag from where it sat on a shelf in the evidence room on the S.H.I.E.L.D side of the Avengers Compound. It looked innocent enough, a black Nike bag that had been stolen from one of the lockers back at the community center, along with the clothes Stiles had been wearing when he was pulled from the lake. His curiosity concerning the teenager had grown larger after Tony's little stint of convincing them that the kid wasn't exactly as evil as they had originally thought. 

He was kind of half and half as to whether or not he believed the billionaire, but Clint did admit that they all jumped into the interrogations a little too fast with a little too much excitement. He supposed it was from the pent-up adrenaline that was running through their veins after the months of missions that led up to a two-month break full of silence that had them all itching to get back into the field again. 

Of course, the break did them some good, it allowed for them to visit the people they were close with or family members that were worried sick for them due to their line of work, but it was weird not hearing the blaring alarm at the tower 24/7 like they had when the Avengers Initiative had first started up. Things were calmer now, and they had to get used to it.

But when the first sign of something to do came up, they were all a little too eager. Hence the situation with Stiles. It was no secret that Fury has kept things from them (he thought back to when he believed Coulson was dead only to find out that he was alive and kicking) so to hear that there was a whole 'nother part to the story shouldn't have been surprising, and it wasn't, at least until Fury had strictly stated that he really didn't know there was more information than what they had. 

And sure, while there was a chance that there was a lot that they didn't know, that didn't erase the incriminating evidence they had that pointed towards Stiles' actions. 

It was a tough situation, and it would be so much easier if the stubborn kid would just  _talk._

Clint shook his head, pulling open the zipper of the bag and he could have laughed at how pitiful the contents of the bag were. Soggy clothes were pushed to the side, squeezed against a pillow, with the baseball bat resting on top. 

And that was it. 

There wasn't anything in the bag that gave anything up, but Clint found himself picking up the red hoodie. In a lot of the photographs included in the file about Stiles, the hoodie had been a recurring item, it obviously held some sort of value to the seventeen-year-old. He pursed his lips, shoving it back in the bag and tossing it back onto the shelf, though he knew that he would be back. 

It had only been around fifteen minutes since Stark had left the conference room, and about ten minutes since the remaining members in the room had argued about their stance on the issue. 

Clint didn't really know where he stood yet, and he hoped after Tony's promise that Stiles would spill the full story. 

God, he hoped that was true but this kid was probably more stubborn that Tony Stark, or even Natasha when it came to talking about her personal life. And he was really freaking frustrating.

-

Stiles looked around the workshop in awe, deeming the area the most expensive place he's ever seen, even after he's walked around through parts of the compound. The corners of his lips twitched when he thought about how Lydia would be ecstatic to see a place like this, but he quickly dismissed the thought when he felt a heavyweight in his heart. 

He missed them, so much.

His fingers slid across the rim of the metal slotted in his chest, suddenly anxious at the idea of getting it switched with another one. It didn't help that he was seemingly being haunted by Void Stiles, and the sight of his corpse-like doppelganger was making his insides twist uncomfortably.

Either that, or it was the numbing hunger he was experiencing. 

"Pay attention to where you're walking, kid." Tony's voice shook him from his thoughts. "DUM-E isn't here if you knock over anything flammable, and I'm not gonna be the one to clean that mess up." Stiles rolled his eyes, idly dodging the table in front of him. 

"Alright, have a seat there," The mechanic pointed at the slanted, dentistry-looking chair on one side of the workshop. Stiles slowly complied, taking a seat, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. The last thing he wanted to do was electrocute Tony. 

He let out a deep sigh, watching Tony walk back and forth, setting different things on the table next to the chair, though none of the items looked threatening. Stiles bit his lip, feeling his heart beat faster when the engineer walked towards him, an arc reactor in his hand. "So, this might be a little uncomfortable but it's quick." Tony shrugged casually. "Just don't, like, move or anything, got it?" 

Stiles' eyebrows furrowed as he tried to drown out Oliver's voice in his head. "If you kill me, I will haunt your ass, I'm not kidding." He grumbled. 

Tony only laughed, probably not taking his threat seriously, but at the moment, the teenager was completely serious. Stiles scoffed at the disregard, taking his shirt off to expose his bony torso and bruised chest, though he was grateful that Tony didn't comment on it, only taking a look at the metal contraption that Stiles somehow constructed. 

"Jesus kid, what the fuck is this?" He remarked, looking at the hunk of rusted metal. "Full offense, but I'm surprised that you haven't kicked the bucket." 

"Don't look at me," Stiles was quick to defend himself. "It's not like I know." 

The Avenger just shook his head, turning around before exposing a tool that Stiles didn't care enough to know the name of. "Alright, so I'm just gonna pop that sucker out, and pop this one," He gestured to the shiny arc reactor, "In." He explained though Stiles wasn't really listening anymore. 

He was already bored. 

A gasp left his mouth when Tony twisted the reactor in order to pull it from his chest, his heart skipping a beat as he suddenly felt...empty. He opened his mouth, attempting to say something when the engineer put a hand up to stop him, using his other hand to grab the new reactor. "Calm down." He said stiffly, slotting the metal in.

Though, Tony was slightly intrigued. The casing in his chest was...perfect. The metal was clean and well crafted, but the reactor itself was utterly disgusting. How that was possible when Stiles had admitted to having no memory of building the object was a little unnerving to think about. But in his time since becoming Iron Man, the impossible was clearly making itself become possible. 

Stiles took a deep breath when the Stark-made arc reactor was inserted into his chest, and in a shocking way, suddenly felt a lot better. 

Though it was short-lived because not even a minute after his reactor was replaced, Stiles' chest lurched and his eyes widened. 

Tony took a large step back, though his eyes never left Stiles, his jaw dropping as he watched Stiles' eye color change from hazel to a blinding blue, so bright it was teetering the edge of becoming white. 

But like Stiles' moment of peace, it only lasted for a moment. Two seconds after his eyes were blue, they were once again hazel and Stiles slumped back into the chair, his eyes shut tight and his body language communicating that he was most likely unconscious.

Somewhat worried, Tony took a step back towards the boy, only for Stiles to gasp back awake. He flailed up, nearly falling out of the chair, causing Tony to raise his hands, rushing towards him in order to stabilize him. "Woah, woah, chill out." He stated. 

Stiles looked up at him, his expression one of shock. The teenager slowly reached up to caress his own face, and that's when Tony noticed that the cuts and bruises that were previously littering his face were...gone.

"What did you do to me?" He questioned, his voice shaky. Suddenly, his eyes widened more as he twisted in the chair, bringing his feet up towards him. He looked around, grabbing the sharpest thing near him, causing Tony to intervene. 

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" But his question was ignored as he watched Stiles attempt to saw off the cast occupying his ankle. Feeling a moral obligation as an adult, Tony stepped forward, attempting to pry the letter opener from the teenager's hands. 

"No, stop!" Stiles shouted, "Stop! Look!" He paused for a second, allowing for Tony to snatch the sharp tool from his hands. Stiles used both his hands to pull apart the slit he cut in the cast, exposing clear skin, save for the scars he's previously gained. No evidence of a broken ankle. 

"Okay, what the hell?" Tony mumbled underneath his breath before he helped the teen cut off the rest of his cast. Any sign of the broken bone was gone. Stiles looked down at his abdomen, unsure if he was shocked or not that the stitched gash was gone. He stood up quickly, nearly knocking into Tony as he bent down to grab his shirt from the floor, pulling it on. 

The only time he's witnessed accelerated healing like that was with werewolves. He was pretty sure not even Captain America could heal that quickly. 

Tony was confused as well because while Stiles' injuries healed, his skin remained sickly pale and the bags under his eyes were still there. It looked like whatever happened cured the surface injuries, not the exhaustion. "Uh," He said awkwardly. "How're you feeling, kid?" He questioned, remembering the hypothermia and bronchitis the teenager supposedly had. 

"Fine, I guess," Stiles said. "Or at least, better than earlier. How did I...?" He questioned, his words trailing off, his tone showing off his confusion. 

"I don't know why you're asking me." Tony shrugged. "I'm not the one who just healed a broken bone. Why don't you tell me how you did it?"

"No fucking idea," Stiles shook his head. "That's never happened before. I-" He cut himself off, his eyes widening as he seemingly had an epiphany. He reached forward, snatching the letter opener from where Tony had set it down on a table, slicing it down the palm of his left hand before Tony could even get a word in. 

"Hey!" Tony shouted, yanking the tool from his hands before he had a chance to do it again. Stiles' hissed in pain, ignoring the engineer, staring at his hand as blood streamed from the cut. 

"It's not healing." He deadpanned. 

Tony examined his hand, the letter opener now tossed into a drawer, before he realized that maybe he shouldn't let the wound continue to bleed. "Really?" He questioned. "You decided the best way to test your healing ability was to slice your hand? Are you stupid?" 

"Probably." Stiles shrugged, brushing off his actions in a way only a teenager would. "But it's not healing. That doesn't make sense." Tony turned around, grabbing a cloth that had been abandoned on one of the many tables in his lab, tying it tightly around Stiles' hand, purposely ignoring the hiss of pain that left his mouth. 

"So you're telling me that this was the first time you've just...healed?" He questioned. 

"If it wasn't the first time, you think I would've just cut my hand?" Stiles stated, raising an eyebrow, though once again, he seemed to have another epiphany, his hands shooting up towards his chest, pressing against the arc reactor.

"It was the arc reactor." He said. 

Tony stared at him for a moment, "I'm guessing your eyes never changed color either." 

"They changed color?" Stiles looked completely taken back. "Oh my god, it really was the arc reactor." His eyes flickered around the room before he spoke again. "My chest didn't heal either, I don't get it."

It actually made sense, if it was given some real thought. Given Stiles' control over electricity, it made sense that by, in a way, giving his body a new power source would suddenly recharge him. 

Stiles shook his head, huffing before he straightened up. "Alright dude, you replaced the arc reactor and whatever, so if you want me to spill the beans, it's time to hold up your end of the bargain." 

Tony scoffed, though he didn't argue, instead he started walking towards the elevator, gesturing for Stiles to follow him. 

-

Stiles stared at his reflection in the mirror, ignoring the chill that went down his spine at the idea that he might be visited once again by his evil doppelganger. His face was ridden of any injury. Any wound that was a byproduct of HYDRA was gone. 

And it kind of freaked Stiles out. 

His shirt was off, but he wasn't interested in inspecting his no longer bruised chest, instead, he was attempting to see his back, trying to see if the purple lines decorating his skin were gone.

They were not.

The hand that he had cut was now wrapped in gauze, though it would have to be rewrapped after he showered. It stung any time he moved it, but it was a reminder that his spontaneous healing was most likely a one-time thing.

At least his ankle wasn't broken anymore. 

A pile of clothes was set on the other side of the counter, a pair of black sweatpants, a plain t-shirt, and a grey hoodie in the mix along with a couple of other items. Tony had informed him that J.A.R.V.I.S would notify him when Stiles step out of the bathroom, then it would be story time with the rest of the Avengers. 

He was so not looking forward to that. 

He sighed, turning around and heading towards the shower. This time, when he twisted the lever, water came spiraling down. Stiles quickly undressed, stepping into the shower and under the spray.

Suddenly, he felt like he could cry. In a way, the water was overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It's just...it's been a while since he's actually been able to shower, and the feeling of the hot water on his head and onto his skin was somehow therapeutic. 

He turned so he was facing the water and he just stood there. Five minutes passed and he stayed basking in the warmth, actually at peace since he escaped Eichen House. The shower was calming, and as long as he stayed under the water, he could pretend that his problems were washing away with the grime. 

After a couple more minutes, Stiles finally broke his daze, looking around until he spotted the bottles of shampoo and conditioner on the shelves built into the fancy shower. It was the expensive stuff that only people as rich as Tony Stark would even bother to buy.

But with the expense came the smell of vanilla and Stiles found himself uncaring of wasting the stuff, instead lathering the shampoo into his hair. 

He spent almost forty-five minutes in the shower, scrubbing his body and his hair clean, and then just standing under the spray. He sighed, switching off the water, stepping out of the shower and wrapping himself in one of the towels neatly folded under the sink. 

He was trying to delay talking to the Avengers, taking his sweet time to dry himself off and get dressed, though despite his discomfort at the thought of spilling all his secrets- along with the sacred secret of the pack- he couldn't help but grin at himself in the mirror. 

Something about being clean just made him feel so much better. 

With a sigh, Stiles turned around, opening the door of the bathroom to reveal the same suite he had been in earlier, shoving his hands into the pockets of the hoodie as he entered the room, his sock-clad feet lightly thudding against the carpeted floor. "Might as well let Stark know that I'm ready to talk," He spoke up to the ceiling. "Or at least, I'm supposed to be ready to talk." He rolled his eyes.

_"Mister Stilinski, I would like to inform you that there are bandages under the sink. I would advise that you rebandage your hand."_

He had forgotten about that, but now that the situation had been brought up again, the stinging in his hand was back. He looked down, his nose crinkling at the sight of the red tint on the part of the gauze that was wrapped around the wound. 

Turning back around, Stiles reentered the bathroom, kneeling before the sink to pull out the small first aid kit. He hastily pulled off the sodden bandages, unimpressed to find that the cut was bleeding once again, wrapping the new bandages around his hand before securing it with the metal clasps. 

He finished right on time to, because right as he exited the bathroom, Tony was entering the suite. 

"Let's go, kiddo, people are getting impatient." He stated, leaning against the door frame. 

Stiles scoffed, "Yeah, whatever."

-

Suddenly, the thought of facing a room full of powerful adults was making Stiles feel nervous. Not only would he basically have to tell them his life story, he was now forced to explain how he had magically been healed, why every injury on his body was now replaced with smooth skin. 

It was kind of unnerving, especially when Tony was really the only one technically on his side.

But Stiles was never one to back down from a challenge. 

He swung open the door, ignoring the pit of anxiety that settled in his stomach when all eyes flickered to him, instead he fixed himself with a shitty, cocky grin. "S'up." 

Bruce was the first to speak, asking the dreaded question that he knew was inevitable. "That's not possible." He stated. "How did you-what happened?" 

The rest of the team followed suit, examining his utter lack of injuries. Luckily, before he got a chance to sputter some smart ass remark and possible dig a deeper grave, Tony cut in.

"Long story short, I replaced the reactor and all of the sudden his eyes go bright and next thing I know, kid's as good as new." He stated as he brushed past Stiles, taking his seat at the table.

'As good as new' was a bit of an overstatement because while Stiles had no actual injuries and he no longer looked like a sewer rat, his skin was still a milky white and the bags under his eyes were pretty much designer. 

"Don't worry, pretty sure it was only a temporary thing." The teen stated, holding up his bandaged hand.

"Why don't you have a seat?" Steve spoke up, gesturing the chair on the end of the table, the one that would have Steve on one side of him and Thor on the other. 

"Hold on," Stiles crossed his arms, his voice confident. "I've got some terms and conditions first." 

"I don't think you're in any place to be bargaining." Sam pulled a face. 

"Aren't I?" He raised an eyebrow, a devious glint in his eye. "I mean, you want answers. The only person who has them is me. I pretty much have the upper hand." His lips twitched in a smirk. 

"Come on, we had a deal." Tony scoffed. 

Stiles grit his teeth when he could've sworn that he heard someone whisper,  _never trust a fox,_ but he forced himself to ignore it. 

"We did." He nodded, "But now we're going to make another one. If I'm gonna tell what you want to know, you're going to have to promise that you'll leave my friends and my family out of this." 

The group was silent before Cap spoke up, "Fine. We pro-"

"No, not you." Stiles interrupted him, he scanned the group until his eyes landed on the Director, the man who's been nothing but silent since Stiles arrived. "You," He pointed. "Promise you'll leave them out of this, and then I'll talk." 

Nick Fury watched him through his one good eye, slightly impressed with the teenager's ability to talk to him with such a tone without his voice even wavering. "Fine," He stated, "I'll leave them alone, but that's all I'm promising." 

"Good." Stiles nodded before he turned towards the next person, "And you," He pointed at Coulson, glaring at the man. "You know what you did and you know what you owe me." He sneered.

Everyone, save for Coulson himself and possibly Tony, were rendered completely confused at what Stiles was getting out, but they assumed from Phil's shit-eating grin, that it wasn't that serious. 

Without saying another word, Stiles took his seat, casually leaning back in the conference chair. He looked at the manila folder that laid on the table a few inches in front of him, pulling it towards him without a second thought. Ignoring the looks he received, he folded it open, snorting slightly at the size of the folder. "Huh, so this is all you guys know?" When Natasha brought the folder to him, he didn't actually look at it, but now, it was obvious that more than half the story was missing. He flipped through a couple of the papers, stopping when a photograph was shown between pieces of paper.

His whole demeanor softened as he picked up the photo, a small, pained smile on his face. It was a picture of him, Scott, and Lydia. He could remember the day it was taken, in that brief period between the whole surrogate sacrifice thing and when the nightmares and darkness began. When they were all somewhat happy. They were at some diner in Los Angeles, a day trip they had taken along with Allison and Isaac. They had been goofing off, and when Allison told them to smile, the three of them struck the same pose and grinned for the camera.

It seemed like so long ago.

Swallowing down his nostalgia, Stiles set the photo down, "So, guess we have to begin, huh?"

"And how do we know you'll be telling the truth?" Rhodey asked, glancing from Stiles to Tony.

"You don't, actually," Stiles shrugged. "But I do. And believe me, I would not be telling you any of this if I had a choice," He glanced around at all of them, pursing his lips, "And I kind of guess I don't." 

He watched as Natasha and Clint shared a look, one that he couldn't exactly read, but instead of questioning it, he decided to bite the bullet and get started. 

"Okay so, I guess it all started on the night before winter break ended, which, by itself, is shitty, ya know? Anyways, I was bored and I was messing with the police radio I had in my car, and I overheard my dad calling in people to help with some search in the woods for a body. So obviously, I had to go check it out." He explained, only to be interrupted by Bruce. 

"You went body hunting?" He questioned as if  _that's_ the weirdest thing he's ever heard. 

"Uh yeah. Believe it or not, but Beacon Hills is boring as hell." He rolled his eyes before continuing. "I stopped by Scott's house and pretty much forced him to come with me, but because he's my best friend, he would've came with me whether or not I begged him. So yeah, we went to the woods and we started searching. Now that I look back on it though, probably wasn't the best idea to do it while my dad and his troopers were out there." He shrugged. 

"Oh really,  _that_ is why that wasn't the best idea?" Coulson questioned, earning another dirty look from the teenager. 

"Also, what does body hunting have to do with you blowing up a Sheriff's station?" Clint added on, gaining the same expression as Coulson.

"Well if I wasn't getting interrupted so much, I would be able to get to that part, wouldn't I?" He bit back sarcastically. "Anyways, after I was so rudely interrupted," He could've laughed at the look Steve gave him, "It really wasn't much of a surprise that I got caught by my dad, but it was just me, and I wasn't gonna bring Scott down with me, so I told my dad that I was there alone. So I ended up getting grounded for a week, and Scott was left in the woods alone. And you know what? That little son of a bitch found the body." Til this day, Stiles was still a little pressed that Scott found the body without him. "But that wasn't the worse part," He took a deep breath, gearing up for the big reveal. "Scott got bit, by a werewolf." 

Now, Stiles was expecting cryptic looks and questioning glances, but what he wasn't expecting was for Clint Barton to burst into laughter. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, running his uninjured hand through his hair. The expensive shampoo and conditioner had made his hair undeniably soft, and he found himself comforted by the fact that his hair was no longer stringer and greasy. His hair was fluffy, as it always has been, but unlike the times he's styled his hair to stand up, it flopped against his head, the fringe almost long enough to fall across his eyes. 

"Did I say something funny?" He asked, unimpressed by the spy's reaction. 

Everyone but Tony, Thor, and surprisingly Fury, was giving him disbelieving looks. 

"I'm sorry, just," Clint was giving hearty chuckles, mocking wiping a tear from his eyes, "You expect us to believe that werewolves are real? I was betting that you were gonna lie, kid, but this is too much."

Stiles gave him an incredulous look, "You guys fought aliens, he's an actual God," He pointed at Thor, "But saying werewolves are real is a reach? Unbelievable."

"I believe you." His head whipped towards Fury so fast, he got a little dizzy. Director Nick Fury, the man who ordered his capture in the first place, believed him. 

"You do?"

"I've seen some weird shit in my day, werewolves are the least craziest thing I've heard." 

He gaped, though he didn't have time to speak when Thor cut in. "Werewolves have not existed on Earth in centuries, while I'm not saying you're lying, I don't think it would be possible for them to exist without anyone on Asgard being aware." 

"No offense, but that's where you're wrong." He stated. "Werewolves haven't gone extinct."

The God of Thunder gave him an odd look, and for some reason, Stiles couldn't help but feel like Thor was looking deeper. Suddenly, he found himself no longer wanting to tell the whole thing as one story, so he came up with an idea, "Look, this is a really long story, so why don't I tell you the things you really want to know?" He suggested. "Ask the questions you're really wanting to ask." 

They all looked at each other, communicating in a way that made Stiles feel uncomfortable and out of the loop, before Natasha gave him a pointed look. 

"Why did you blow up the Sheriff's station?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a couple of things-  
> -no, stiles is not becoming the next iron man  
> -there will be a reunion, but it's not for a while  
> -age of ultron will happen  
> -things are only just starting  
> photo stiles look at is= https://static.tumblr.com/f896ea36f79ffeebefa9f8cb249641da/kuuf8kw/xpynw27vt/tumblr_static_tumblr_static_bkavhuqyehsks4w4kowsc4cok_640.jpg


	15. chapter fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "we rise and we fall and we break"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay first off, i am sososo sorry for being on hiatus for 2 months. ive been super busy with all state band and with my job but good news! it's summer time and i have a lot of time to work on this story! i promise you all that i'm not dropping this! i have huge plans for this book and i will finish it!

**honesty.**

_015._

He wished that he could be surprised by the question, but in reality, he was kind of expecting it. Stiles glanced at the multiple pairs of calculating eyes staring at him, awaiting his explanation, and suddenly he was filled with the overwhelming urge to  _get the fuck out of there._ What was he thinking? There was no way in hell they'd believe a story that included a Japanese demon. Most of the people in this room barely believed in the idea of werewolves.

"Stiles." He peered over at Tony, who nodded his head in an encouraging fashion. 

At least he believed him, however, he wished that it didn't take  _that_ video to convince him. 

"Okay," He began, drawing out the end of the word. "Technically," His voice raised an octave at the end of the word as he averted his attention back to the file in front of him, "that wasn't me. I mean, it was me, but it wasn't me at the same time." Stiles paused before he could start rambling, taking a breath in order to retrieve his thoughts. 

"You expect us to believe that?' Clint butted in, his skepticism obvious in his tone. 

"How about you shut up and let me talk?" Stiles countered, looking up with a sharp look. So far, he was not a fan of the archer. "Anyways," He stated, unable to keep his frustration out of his voice. "There's this...thing. It's called a Nogitsune- it's a Japanese demon. Whoever it possesses goes 'void' and...and it got to me." Stiles closed his eyes, hating the way panic rose in his throat and how the pit in his stomach grew. "It made me do really terrible things, the Sheriff's station was one of those." He opened his eyes, meeting the gaze of Natasha.

"That doesn't really answer my question." She stated. "Why would this...Nogistune make you do that?"

A frown pulled at his lips, and despite the silence of the room, he could hear someone speaking, 

" _We're going to destroy all of them, Stiles. One-by-one."_

He felt his heart stop when his eyes flew to where Steve was seated, but it wasn't the Captain that stopped Stiles from breathing, it was the newly re-gauzed figure standing behind him. 

"U-uh," It was apparent that no one else saw the entity, what they did see, however, was how Stiles' skin lost the little color it had remaining. "He, uh," Keeping his train of thought while simultaneously trying to ignore the Nogitsune was hard. Especially when he couldn't completely convince himself that it wasn't real. Why was the Nogitsune here? Why did he keep showing up, as both the broken soldier and Void duplicate? "He craves chaos and strife, hurting my family created all of that, I guess." 

This time, he was unable to keep to the frown from his face, and he wanted nothing more than to get far, far away from where he was. The stress he was feeling about practically exposing himself to the Avengers combined with the discomfort and anxiety he felt from the presence of the Nogitsune was really starting to make him freak a little bit, and he could not do that again.

He grit his teeth as the ugly, terror-inducing laughter left the mouth of the Nogitsune as he circled the table. " _Come on Stiles, we can kill them all. We will kill them all!"_ Beneath the table, Stiles' thumb pressed into the bandaged cut on his palm, drawing more blood and causing him to bite back a hiss of pain, however, it was enough to expel the Nogitsune from the room, supporting Stiles' theory that it was all just a figment of his exhaustion.

"You said that he got to you," Fury said, "How did he manage that?"

Stiles' was slightly taken back by the words because while he was expecting them to ask questions, he was mostly assuming they'd be about how he wasn't telling them the truth. Regardless, he couldn't help but let out a small, stale laugh. "That's a whole 'nother story on its own." 

"Well," The way Fury's one-eyed stare can be more intimidating then most people can be with two eyes showed a true testament to the Director's character. "As you can see, we have the time." 

Stiles rolled his eyes, "I assume that you guys heard about the string of murders that happened at the beginning of the school year in Beacon Hills?" He tilted his head, awaiting the nods from the adults. "Those weren't just...they weren't just from like, any ordinary serial killer?" He inwardly winced at the way the words sounded, "It's really a mess, actually. How do I even explain this? Uh..." He took a pregnant pause as he tried to figure his word out, "Okay, so, werewolves have packs, okay? And a member of the pack, the alpha's right-hand, it's called a druid emissary or just a druid. But once in a while, and I'm talking like, a big while, the druid can go dark side, and they become a dark druid or a darach." 

"Is this exposition important?" Bruce spoke up, "I mean, not to be rude, but what's this all for?"

Stiles raised an eyebrow before nodding, "Uh, yeah. Because the thing that killed all those people was a darach." Suddenly, the team looked intrigued, though it left Stiles slightly unraveled by the thought that a murderer interested them. But, you know, whatever. "It was human sacrifices. Virgins, warriors, healers, philosophers, and...guardians." The last one came out as a whisper. "She was my English teacher, and she killed them. She..." Images of Scott standing in the parking lot, flare in his hand, doused in gasoline passed through his head, followed by the empty room in the school, save for a strangled Lydia and a transformed Scott. Then it was the hospital. Then the bathtubs full of water. 

"She..." His voice cracked, though he quickly cleared his throat. He was vaguely aware of the way that Sam was staring at him, though it was more like he was studying him, not judging him. "She took my Dad." He sighed. "And Scott's mom. And Allison's dad. And she tried to kill my best friends." 

"Wait," Rhodey interrupted, "Nowhere does it say your Dad died..." He trailed off, giving Stiles a look that reminded him of the way his Dad looked at him when he caught him lying. 

"He didn't." He stated. "We saved them. We kind of...well, you see, we sacrificed ourselves for them." He said the words slowly, unsure if they would make sense. "As surrogate sacrifices. We kind of died and came back? I'm not exactly sure how it worked, but when we went under, we found where she was keeping them. It was this dead tree stump in the middle of the woods, they call it the-"

"The Nemeton." Thor interrupted, staring at Stiles in bewilderment. "You...you are your friends are the ones who have awakened the oldest of the Nemeta." 

"You know it?" Stiles tilted his head in confusion. "And the what? The Nemeta?" 

"The Allfathers placed the Nemeta on Midgard in order to prevent the energy from the Bifrost to destroy Earth. However, the Nemeta are only housing for the power of the Bifrost, the power travels through the trails underground-"

"The telluric currents?" Stiles supplied. 

Thor nodded, "The Nemeton that you gave power was the first to be put on Midgard, and it's the strongest. Heimdall informed me that it had been awoken through a sacrifice, but never who had done it." 

"Hold on," Coulson put his hand in the air, "Does someone want to explain to me what the hell you're talking about?" 

"The child speaks the truth," Thor stated, ignoring the way Stiles gave an indignant protest at being deemed a child. "Midgard is not stable enough to hold the power of the Bifrost, the Nemeta hold the power that would otherwise tear apart the earth, and transforms that power into something more manageable. But once the wrong people began to tap into the energy supply, the Allfathers cut the tree down. But they were still alive."

"And we gave power back to them." Stiles furrowed his eyebrows. "Well, shit." He breathed.

Fury stood up, "I think we have enough information for now." He stated. "We obviously have things we need to discuss without certain people," He cast a look in Stiles' direction, causing the seventeen-year-old to roll his eyes.

"So what are we going to do with Stiles?" Steve questioned. 

"I'll have someone take him to his room-"

"Get him some food too," Tony interjected.

Fury gave him an annoyed look, "I'll have someone get him some food and take him to his damn room," He finished. 

"Yeah, can we not talk about him like he's not sitting right here?" Stiles said and while he was met by dirty looks, he went ignored.

"Hold on, that doesn't answer the question- how does this connect to the possession?" Stiles wanted both to cringe at the description and punch Natasha for the reiteration of the question, but he settled for a nice glare instead. 

"When we went under, we supposedly opened some...door in our minds. I thought I got it fixed, but I guess I was wrong." He shrugged.

"Stiles," Thor said carefully, and his eyes held a glint that showed that he knew something. "How exactly did you guys become surrogate sacrifices?"

This was something that Stiles didn't like to talk about, or even think about because then he could feel Lydia's fingers pressed into his shoulders and the frozen feeling of the ice. "It was a ritual," He began, ducking his eyes from the God's sharp stare. "We, uh, drowned."

The silence in the room was so intense, Stiles' swore everyone could hear the intense beating of his heart. 

"I think this is enough." Fury stated once again, nodding towards Coulson.

"I need Agent Hill in Room 25D." Coulson spoke, probably into his earpiece, judging by the way he pressed his hand to his ear. 

"Hold up, you owe me a sandwich, I'm not eating shitty food again." He sneered. 

Once again, no one answered him. Instead, they seemed to opt for silence. Fortunately, the quiet died when the door opened, and a woman in a black S.H.I.E.L.D uniform walked in. "Director Fury," She stated.

Strangely, she reminded him of Allison. 

"Hill, please take Mr Stilinski down to the cafeteria, then to his room. I'm sure you've been briefed on his case." Hill looked over at Stiles, her eyes calculating before she nodded, gesturing for Stiles to stand and follow her. 

He paused for a moment before standing, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the stares of the adults. With a sigh of exasperation, Stiles followed Agent Hill out of the room, feeling even more uneasy as he was left with the woman. It wasn't that she made him feel uncomfortable- he didn't think she'd hurt him unless he provoked her- it was just that she intimidated him in the same way that Black Widow did. 

"So, uh, what's up?" He stated. 

Agent Hill glanced at him before looking forward, successfully ignoring him. The teenager rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. He was once again experiencing an extreme chill that he couldn't shake and he hoped that getting some (hopefully good) warm food in him would help. 

"How old are you, kid?" She questioned as the two of them stepped into an elevator. 

Stiles looked over, briefly catching the sight of his reflection in the mirrored walls. "I thought you were 'briefed on my case'." He mocked, using air quotes. 

She rolled her eyes, giving him an unimpressed look. "Briefed on your case, not your person." 

He had a snarky comeback in mind, but he decided he didn't really want to get hit today. "Seventeen."

Hill nodded, staring forward once again, but Stiles was still under her intense gaze, though now it was through the mirrored doors of the elevator. He could tell that she was sizing him up, obviously trying to decide if he was an actual threat or not, and Stiles was slightly ashamed to admit that he probably didn't look dangerous at all. If anything, he looked the opposite of a threat. The sweatshirt he was wearing hung off his body, looking oversized on his (malnourished) frame. His sweatpants did the same thing, and the whole outfit made him look smaller. It also didn't help that he wasn't wearing any socks. 

Finally, the elevator doors opened, and Stiles was quick to step out, but he let out a yelp of surprise when a hand wrapped around his upper arm, pulling him back. His head turned quickly, meeting the face of Agent Hill. 

"Dude!" He exclaimed. 

"You really think I'm gonna let you run off?" She questioned and Stiles' jaw fell open in shock. 

"I was just stepping out of the elevator!" He stated, shaking his arm out of her grip. "It's snowing outside, do you really think I would just run out there with no shoes on?!" He rolled his eyes, "I'm dumb but not that dumb." 

Hill looked at him for a moment, scoffing loudly before she began to walk, throwing a look over her shoulder that told Stiles' that he better follow her, and while the idea of escape played in his head, his hunger was stronger and he found himself strolling after her. 

-

 "Are we just going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Tony finally spoke after a brief silence since Stiles was taken out of the room. "I mean, how the hell did we miss three kids basically killing  _themselves_ to save their parents because a psycho bitch lady kidnapped them to revive a magic tree? This is completely in our line of work and we knew nothing about it!" He stated, his fingers tapping against his arc reactor in his panic.  

"We didn't even know that werewolves existed until fifteen minutes ago," Natasha stated. "The only person who knew of the Nemeta was Thor."

They all looked to the god, "The Nemeta was supposed to be protected," He stated. "Unfortunately, it was not, but Heimdall assured me that it was not that it was not that big of an issue." Thor explained, "I did not know that it would come to lead to...all that." 

"They're just kids and they're trying to do the same things we do." Steve interjected, "They may be enhanced, but the difference between those kids and us is just that, they're kids." 

"It's not just that they're kids, kids can be powerful whether they fight off the big bads or not, it's just...how did we miss this? They were out there doing our job." Bruce stated, causing Tony to nod in agreement.

"Can we all agree," Sam questioned, "that Stiles went through some pretty fucked up things, and no offense, but he's obviously pretty messed up. I don't think he was lying." 

"So we're just supposed to believe that a demon possessed him and made him kill people?" Rhodey countered, and it wasn't because he wanted to believe that Stiles was a killer, it was because he didn't want to believe that things like demons were real. 

"Actually, yeah," Clint replied, "Loki basically possessed and he made me kill people. Gods and goddesses exist, I think it's perfectly reasonable that shit like werewolves and demons can exist." He stated, rubbing the base of his hearing aid. 

He felt guilty that he went in with full force to interrogate Stiles. And now that he had time to think about it, he was kinda impressed by the kid's ability to keep his snarky facade in the face of Avengers, especially because everyone but Natasha was a whole lot larger than him. Any other seventeen-year-old kid would have cracked instantly under the pressure. However, they still had some reason to be suspicious of him, because Stiles had abilities that none of them knew anything about, and the only things they have learned about his powers was what he showed them.

"I think we can all agree," Sam reiterated. "That the kid has been through some seriously fucked up shit. I've seen guys with PTSD, and he has the same look on his face." 

It was unnerving to think about, that such a young person could have possibly gone through so much in their life to give them such a mental disorder, and another unnerving fact about it was that everything that happened to Stiles started happening not even a year ago.

"I hate how we're doing a full 360 and completely not acknowledging the fact that we all pretty much acted like Stiles was a mass murderer without  _actually_ getting all the facts. And we all know what happened the last time we did that," Tony zeroed his focus onto Coulson, who at least had a shred of decency to look ashamed for his faked death. 

"I," Thor began, looking a bit saddened. "I could sense something, a darkness within him. But I assumed it was due to accusations made against him, however, I realize that the darkness is from the dark energy of the Nemeton. It's burdened him." 

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Tony sighed, rubbing his forehead. "We're supposed to be the guys that stop shit like this."

"I get what you're saying," Natasha stated, "And yes, we made snap judgments. But still, I think we still have reason to be wary of him. Are we forgetting that he managed to take Steve down in a matter of 5 seconds?" 

"You're right," Fury interrupted the discussion. "And as much as it pains me to say this, you are too, Stark. So let's put an end to this damn "we can agree" bullshit and get to discussing the bigger issues here. While mistakes were previously made, I have to say that good things have come from it. For example, we've uncovered another person with superhuman abilities as well as an entire species that are genetically modified humans," He paused, taking in the disapproving looks of the Avengers. "Oh shut the hell up, I am a man of my word, I'll leave his little friends alone." He rolled his eyes. 

"Regarding the fact that Stiles has these...powers," Phil chimed in, "Obviously he doesn't get to just leave, which poses the next question-"

Fury gave a sarcastic smile, "Who's babysitting?"

-

"Alright, what do you want?" Maria Hill was unimpressed with the fact that her Director- of a very exclusive, prestigious government agency- assumed that her skills included babysitting a seventeen-year-old teenager who followed behind her like a lost puppy. 

The kid was quite a character to be seen, his head craning around in almost every direction as she led him to the cafeteria, obviously trying to take in everything. 

It was hilarious, really.

Now, they were standing in front of an electronic kiosk, a touch screen displayed for them to order their food. Stiles was looking at the screen, his eyes scanning the stock photos of the food, his nose crinkling. "Given my experience with your food, I'm not sure if I want anything. Sanitizer and cardboard are not good for my diet." 

She rolled her eyes, her annoyance with the kid apparent as she tapped the screen. "The food that the people in the holding cells is usually pretty bad," She shrugged. "Subpar, I guess. Do you think Tony Stark would allow bad food to be served her?" She sent him a look that read  _duh_ as she continued to place her own order. 

The paninis in the cafeteria were amazing. 

Maria could feel the kid's eyes studying her for a moment before he watched her finish ordering, using the finalization of her food as a sign to step up and order his own food. 

Stiles' stared at the screen, his eyes flickering over the many options. He was fucking starving, that was no secret. But upon the offer of food, his stomach stop flipping and hunger stopping gnawing at him, he had no idea what he wanted to it.

So like any respectable teenager, he settled on mac and cheese and curly fries. He looked back over at Agent Hill, shrugging his shoulders as he gave a clumsy gesture towards the screen, trying to signify that he was done. He was getting ready to voice his actions to her when he caught movement behind the woman, his eyebrows furrowing as he recognized the girl standing only a few yards away from him. 

"Darcy?" It was a little louder than intended, considering that he wasn't really meaning to get her attention, but he ended up doing it anyway.

The woman whipped around, her eyes landing on him, and a huge grin spread across her face, though it was quickly followed by a mask of confusion. 

" _Dylan?_ " Right. 

Dylan. That was the name he was using when he met her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
